#and now the circumstances are reasonable but i still have to fight uphill

[nature-played-a-trick-on-me]

Just feel so trapped by my brain

[remlionheart]

hiii !! may seem a bit basic, but chuuya picks up reader after a stressful day at work with his motorcycle fluff and smut 👾.

thank you, u're the best !!

୨ৎ❀ hey, there’s nothing wrong with simple! i appreciate you sending me a suggestion ♡ it's been awhile since we've visited my fave ill-tempered redhead anyway and he deserves all the attention ୨ৎ❀ fluff. smut. deep throating. praise. rich-boyfriend!chuuya x fem!reader. quick lil 1.9k word drabble. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ୨ৎ❀

♡ MDNI ♡

Me 'n My Girl ｡˚☽

so proud to be in your world, just me and my girl ⋆.˚

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A warm mid-evening breeze swept through your hair as you stepped out of large doors of your office building and let out a sigh. The smell of petrichor bounced off of the pavement while a light rain cascaded over downtown Yokohama.

Under normal circumstances, it would’ve been your favorite weather, but the stillness of it was just another reminder of the unrelenting storm of anxiety that’d been plaguing your mind all day.

Nothing had really happened. Work went okay. Your commute there was okay. Your coworkers were okay. Your lunch was okay. Everything was seemingly okay, but that's what made it worse. You couldn't pinpoint the source of your discomfort. Couldn't place the blame on any one single thing for making you feel so off. It was a phantom annoyance. A problem that didn't seem to exist to anyone else besides you.

"Shit." you mumbled, feeling your purse slip from your shoulder as it, along everything it was holding, fumbled out of your reach and spilled out into the middle of the sidewalk.

You were halfway down the stairs, your pumps clicking against the concrete when your hand suddenly reached for the railing. The heel of your shoe breaking clean off, almost knocking you completely off balance.

It wasn't the time to cry. You'd made it so far - managed to hold it together for your entire shift and you were finally at the finish line, but your capacity to handle any more minor inconveniences was well beyond its limit. You swallowed down the lump in your throat, unable to fight back the hot, frustrated tears that streamed down your cheeks while you took both of your shoes off and you gathered up your belongings in defeat.

Chuuya rounded the corner not a second too soon, the loud vroom of his engine coming to a gradual halt as he kicked his foot out to put the motorcycle in park before stepping off.

He smoothed down his disheveled hair, his smirk quickly fading the closer he got to you.

"Baby..." he said softly, looking at broken pair of shoes in your hand and the haphazard way your bag had been slung over your shoulder. "What happened?"

"Nothing," You lied, shaking your head. "It's fine."

He knew you too well though. Knew that if he simply nodded and waited a minute, it would pour out of you without him having to pry. He put a hand on your shoulder, letting you avoid his stare until you finally caved.

"Today was just stupid," You sulked, "Everything was horrible for no reason and then my fucking heel snapped and now," You were fighting an uphill battle against your emotions. More tears pricking at your eyes as your gaze caught his. "And now I can't even ride on the back with you because I'm barefoot and everything is ruined."

Even though he hated seeing you get this worked up, he couldn't deny that there was something so fucking cute about how pouty and helpless you became when things didn't go your way. He took pride in knowing that you needed him, that he was the one you relied on to pick up the pieces when life got too stressful.

"Stay here," he said, taking his leather jacket off and draping it around your shoulders. "I'll be right back, okay?"

You nodded at him, watching him tuck his hands into his pockets as he crossed the street. It was easy to forget who he was sometimes. How merciless he could be with other people when he was so gentle and attentive with you. He was a Port Mafia executive who doubled as a golden retriever boyfriend when no one was looking. Calloused and feared by some of the scariest people in Yokohama and yet for some reason, physically incapable of saying no to you.

You wiped your tears away watching him flick his cigarette onto the sidewalk, an unexpectedly large Chanel bag hanging from his wrist.

"C'mere," he said, taking your hand as he led you to the Ducati.

You plopped down on its leather seat with both legs dangling off to one side while he knelt down and opened the bag, sliding a gorgeous pair of black open-toed suede heels onto your feet.

"Gimme the broken ones."

You pulled them out of your purse with a small smile, letting him throw them away in a nearby trashcan before returning back to you. "Better?" he asked.

"You know there's an Adidas store right around the corner?"

He smirked, placing both hands at either side of you, his mouth grazing yours with a whisper. "My girl had a terrible day at work and you expect me to make it worse by buying her cheap shit?"

Your heart fluttered, another slight grin tugging at the corners of your mouth as you breathed in the comforting smell of his cologne. "Your girl is really lucky to have you."

"Yeah, well…" he mused, "I have a feeling she'll be makin' it up to me later.”

⋆.౨ৎ˚.⟡˖ ࣪

The ride back to his house was peaceful with hardly any traffic for a Thursday night.

There was something about being on the back of his motorcycle that made you feel so indescribably close to him. From the way your body pressed against his to the way he'd tell you to hold onto him tighter. You loved the looks people would flash the two of you as you'd speed past them. The butterflies that flooded your stomach each time he'd start to go faster than he should've. Even if he had a bad habit of occasionally breaking the speed limit, you still trusted him entirely. He was well aware of the difference between having a little bit of fun and being reckless and he'd never cross that line when he was with you.

You felt infinitely better by the time you pulled into the garage, carefully letting your legs fall as he shut off the engine. Your bad day felt like a distant memory - your mind now comfortably occupied with the thousand-dollar shoes that were decorating your feet and the way his eyes lit up as he helped you down.

It was hard to process sometimes that he'd been waking up next to you almost every day for the last year and still looked at you like you had put the stars in the sky.

You grabbed his arm before he could make it inside the house, gently pushing him back onto the seat of his bike. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't stop you as you hovered above him and began undoing his belt.

"You always make me feel so good." You whispered, reaching up to let your lips catch his while your hands continued to unbutton his pants. "I wanna return the favor."

You could feel him growing hard as his tongue swirled against yours with fervor. A gloved hand resting on the back of your neck to pull you in closer while you reached for his zipper and freed him from the fabric that was separating the both of you.

He let out a low groan when your palm met the base of his cock, delicately wrapping your fingers around it as you started to move uppp and downnn at just the right pace, earning even prettier noises from him.

His grip tangled into your hair, moving your head to the side so that he could descend down your neck. Kissing and nipping away at your soft skin while you continued to stroke him. His movements were getting harder to control the faster you went, squeezing him so fucking perfectly that he nearly ripped the front of your shirt open.

You let out a small yelp as he roamed across your chest, lightly slipping your nipple between his teeth while his blue eyes travelled up to yours. "Get on your knees for me."

You nodded, keeping your stare locked with his. Your hand still going in the same motion as you repositioned yourself, kneeling in front of him so that your face was front and center with where he wanted you. You pulled his pants down further, your core aching as you obediently slid your tongue along his base.

"Fuck," he hissed, his mouth dropping open at how tantalizingly thorough you were, "God, that feels – hah – that feels… so.... good."

You took your time, coaxing more heady praises out of him as you made your way up his length, letting a generous amount of spit trail down his shaft while your hand held him in place. His pink tip was practically dripping with pre-cum by the time you reached it, begging to have your pretty little mouth wrapped around it.

You smiled against him, looking up at him with doe-eyes before giving in to his body's needs. "It's all mine, right?" You asked, causing him to twitch in your hand.

"All yours." He groaned, doing everything he could to stop himself from shoving your head down onto him. He wanted you so bad it hurt, but even in the midst of his clouded thinking, he was still more concerned about you. If you needed to hear him say it, then that's exactly what he'd do.

"It's all yours, baby." He exhaled. "I'm all yours… Every inch of me is all – fucking...your...s"

His words were quickly taken from him though, stolen by the way you’d flattened your tongue and pressed it firmly against his tip.

You watched his eyes roll back as his hand gripped your hair, the two of you working to find the perfect rhythm.

You loved the breathy noises he made for you. The way his hips thrusted forward while he buried himself into the warmth of your mouth. The feeling of him getting harder with each slurp and squelch that echoed across the garage as you struggled to take the whole thing.

"Keep going." He grunted, still fighting the overwhelmingly feral urge to slam into you. "Doin' so good f'me."

You went as deep as you could, easing him into the back of your throat while your tongue continued to glide across his shaft.

His movements became more frantic, his voice breaking the faster you went. "God – damn..."

You kept up the same unrelenting pace, drool spilling down your chin as your eyes locked with his again.

"Fuck," his moans turned into guttural whimpers, his body thrusting desperately in search of release. "Just like that," he choked out, "just like that, don't – fucking stop, please baby... don't stop, I'm –"

He looked lost, completely entranced by the hold you had over him as a lewd warmth coated the back of your throat. More carnal obscenities pouring from his lips as he slowly regained control over his breathing and pulled out of you.

"Next time –" he panted, helping you to your feet before leaning in to kiss you. "I'm buying you the whole fuckin' store."

⋆.౨ৎ˚.⟡˖ ࣪

[cadwo]

OC posting time but like,

Something about this image had me thinking about my girl Serienna so hard

I've never really gotten into the tragedy of Serienna's character since I mostly focus on her two siblings but like, she really doesn't come out of her story unscathed either.

She gets her best friend(someone she grew up so close with that he feels like a brother despite being her fiance) and her baby sister(who is the major reason that she even started taking her role as the heir to throne of Haven seriously) taken away from her. The same maniac that took those two away from her and tortured them and then now can't seem to tell her where they are is the guy that her father decided to promise her hand in marriage to "for the sake of Haven's future". And because everyone in Haven has always trusted this man's judgement no one can seem to understand Serienna's apprehension to it outside of assuming she's just being unreasonable because of the gap in age. They see her being upset about the arrangement as childish, and they think the imprisonment of her two most precious family members to have been legitimate.

She spends a solid year preparing herself and her closest companions to launch into a war against this sicko new fiance of hers, navigating treacherous grounds dealing with the silent political war before any real fighting can even break out. It's an awful time of meetings arranged in secret and alliances being struck and realizing that she's about to be the catalyst that shakes up everything that Haven has grown into and all of the routines of the lives within it. The cooperation of the sister cities of Haven is secured, but there is always the fear that someone is leaking this information back to her opponent. Her life is paranoia and anger. She clings to her hopes and to her partners and perseveres.

She only gets to see her baby sister again *once* before shit hits the fan for real, and that reunion is strained because the only thing her sister wants to do is prove to her that she can live on her own and doesn't need to be with Serienna anymore. It's heartbreaking for her, seeing that somehow she grew up so fast without her realizing it. Maybe she hadn't done enough to be there for her in their younger years. And now, because her younger sister is determined to live with her newly found family on the ground, Serienna has to accept the fact that she may not get to make up for her absences in her younger years in the future.

After an agonizing uphill climb in which she has to stumble over the loss of her father, she finally pulls it off: she launches into a civil war against the bastard trying to take her nation out from under her and kills him. She wins!! She did the unthinkable and ascended to the throne about 70 years or so ahead of schedule, and all while not even having her best friend beside her that she'd grown up her whole life thinking would rule by her side! By sheer force of will, strength, and bloodshed she won back her future... right?

But even with that vile man gone, and even with her partners there to be damage control, they can't help her restore what she lost along the way. She knows she won't be able to visit her sister all that often given the circumstances of their living arrangements.

And her brother, her best friend, when they finally reunite, he seems to have trouble looking her in the eyes without this... grief. Try as she might to reassure him that she's working on making everything better, that she's eliminated Haven's biggest threat and she's going to do all of the things they talked about doing together to fix up the place and steer it to a better healthier tomorrow... he still won't come back with her. He can barely keep from choking up around her. He won't tell her any of what he went through that could have made him this way either. He's just... suddenly decided that he has no place in Haven anymore. Despite her doing everything she thought she could to help make Haven a safer place for him, he'd rather wander the globe and hunt down monsters for his new employers(who also just so happen to be bigshots in the Underworld? So he'll help them make their world better but not help her with Haven anymore... Even though he'd always promised her he'd serve by her side and that he wanted nothing more than to see Haven become a better place. Now she can't even get him to say he'll step foot there.)

Despite all of her victories and achievements and the power she fought tooth and nail to seize, it can't restore her bonds with her siblings. There is a distance between them all that she can't get a grasp on. And while she's struggling with that emotional fallout internally, she also has to transition into her busy position as ruler.

Even if, once the dust settles and things fall into a more manageable routine for her, the visits to her siblings can become more frequent, there will always always be scars carved into their bonds.

She misses them.

[potteresque-ire]

Hi! I have been reading your posts and responses to anonymous and I am inclined to comment on your broadly realistic views and detailed analystic answers and let us not forget your ability to be warm in putting forward your opinions. I am truly a huge fan. Thank you for being a station for various answer seekers.

If you have time and patience, please elaborate on the situation GG is still facing post 227. Recently I read various comments insinuating GG copied DD for Douyin night which is absurd but the implication that only one party is still being targeted unnecessarily raise hackles of a lot of solo fans. And I, under any circumstances, DO NOT believe the involvement of the other party. Firm believer of BJYXSZD.

My point is what is being done to stop these antis from targeting GG. Since one of the motive to target GG is to severe the relationship of GG and DD, IMO at least. Does constant attack (external stimulus) on GG (belittling him by comparing him to DD) may have the possibility to effect their relationship (internal reaction)? Objectively yes, but given your perception of their relationship, what is your opinion in this matter, however subjective it may be?

Moreover, how much extreme and sometimes irrational analysis done by bjyx community can lead to harm to both of them especially GG?

Also, I have seen DD being the captain of BJYX in various circumstances but also throwing off people from their old predicted/maintened theories especially in case of Kadians. I am not sure how much to trust these 'candies' since he has a reputation of not giving a f*** of others opinion. So why would he post GG related or non-related content with same kadians. I mean if he posts private content with GG related kadian then why post promotional content with GG related kadian. Does it imply that kadians are related to GG or not or he doesn't care and we are thinking too much. I am not sure what I am writing now, maybe multitude of thoughts poring out here. I am extremely sorry for that.

I do not know whether people believe or not but 1st post by GG yesterday had initials YB in the circle. Not at all explicit, and depends on believers but I felt like he was just trolling BJYX, it may be good naturedly but after his promotional brand picture of shrimp in bunny's hand. I do not know I just felt, dissappointed/bitter/unsure about all of this. I think it is normal to feel this way from time to time even for SZD because along with emotional investment we have rational perspective which is necessary to scrutinize evidence(maybe) from time to time.

I whole heartedly apologize for writing an essay length ask, this is the reason I wanted your patience 😅.

If any other blogger wants to add or comment on this please feel free to do so. Your suggestions are highly welcomed. 🙏

Hello Anon!

I take it that your questions about safety are concerned about the behaviour of c-solos and c-turtles? International fans aren’t likely to put Gg and Dd at any risk. That said, however, frequent fighting among i-fans would likely drain Gg and Dd’s international fanbase, as many fans do not enjoy being a combative atmosphere (I, for one, will run away as quickly as a turtle can run!). Lost i-fans can’t be easily replenished, whether they’re turtles or solos ~ The Untamed, as a foreign language show so beloved that fans are willing to scale tall language and cultural barriers to understand it, isn’t something that comes around often. (stanning Gg and/or Dd does take a lot of work!)

About the arguments. I probably only know about a fraction of them since I do not interact directly with fans outside Tumblr . As far as I can tell, however, recent arguments among c-solos and c-turtles have been ordinary fights, and also, fairly “bi-directional” between the solos (ie. I don’t think Gg or Dd has been relatively exempt from attacks compared to each other). 

These arguments can be heated and some of the attacks may sound vicious, but there’s nothing much to worry about from a safety angle, as they haven’t caught the attention of those outside the fan circles.

The theorising by turtles are also not inherently dangerous. c-turtles have mostly been careful about keeping their discussions among themselves. The only risk it may lead to in the future, that I can think of right now, is the associated YiZhan content on China-based websites (ex. Bilibili, Douyin), which has become fairly plentiful. YiZhan candies used to be relatively obscure given the guidelines of CP fans to keep them among themselves (they call this practice 圈地自萌, literally, drawing a circle on the ground and have fun in it by oneself). These days, however, anyone who’s curious can get a good sense of YiZhan’s story by browsing Bilibili. 

This probably contributes to the continued growth of the turtle population; however, some of this content is created by non-turtles who seek viewership and have little concern over Gg and Dd’s safety. They are the ones who re-upload the BTS, for example, despite the repeated pleas and warnings by the “站姐”s—the superfans who take/purchase these videos—as well as the turtles to not do that. If these content creators go overboard, there’s a possibility that YiZhan content may get caught in the government’s “Eradicating Pornography and Illegal Publications”（掃黃打非) movement. The movement originated in the mid 2000s, and its recent waves have been used as pretext to remove LGBT+ and BL content on line (I will eventually set up a post re: those events). Just last month (2020 Dec), Bilibili has been explicitly named by the government for hosting questionable materials, which means it’s already under scrutiny. Sweeps performed on an entire website are usually broad-based enough that no specific individuals are targeted; however, the government also encourages, with financial incentives, the reporting of specific content and has set up a dedicated website for doing so. While all YiZhan content has no direct relation to Gg and Dd, removal of such content may cause an over-reaction from fans, which can, in turn, lead to accusations of poor fan management by Gg and Dd. Most people will also assume the YiZhan content to be created by turtles.

(Another example of how an alleged turtle mis-step can get the YiZhan fandoms and Gg and Dd tied to the 掃黃打非 movement: a few days ago, a Weibo post showed a photo of a hardcover version of an explicit BJYX fanfic, reportedly sold for profit, and GG haters were calling for an arrest for “illegal publication.” So far, there’s minimal noise on the issue, so it isn’t something to worry about. It can also be fake news, which is so bountiful on the platform and on every aspect of daily life that most die a very peaceful, very well-deserved death.).

Whether fan arguments / theories may affect Gg and Dd’s relationship (assuming they’re in a relationship) … my guess is, not much. Gg and Dd are busy people, unlikely to closely follow their fans’ discussions. Again, I expect effects to be felt only if the arguments get out of hand ~ as in, if they begin to involve the public and/or the government.

As for the question about what is being done to stop Gg being targeted: fan wars are incredibly common in China (as in everywhere else), and Gg and Dd’s aren’t special in that sense ~ it’s just that as turtles, we know about those surrounding Gg and Dd and they feel significant to us. No individuals can stop a fan war ~ all we can do is to not join these wars ourselves.

Personally, I think the international fan base of Gg and Dd, as solos and cpfs, have more chance to achieve peace than its Chinese counterparts — if they choose to want that. Popularity in China is not only quantified (which is likely true everywhere, by marketing departments), but very visibly so. Sales numbers, votes, traffic attributed to each idol are frequently released to the public, possibly to foster competition among fans and drive these numbers further upward. c-turtles’ demonstrated strong performance in pushing these metrics has made them a target to those who wish to have usurp their consumer power. They, therefore, have good reasons to be wary of anyone who try to sway them from their “turtle-ship”, whether to turn them into solos or to lure them into an entirely different fandom. The swaying messages are also not always obvious, not always a direct “your cp suck”.  They can be subtle, many even come from netizens who appear to be fellow turtles, who may say “oh, maybe we (turtles) are wrong” or “we have to be realistic; Gg and Dd will never look at each other publicly again”—messages that cast doubt and sink morale in a fandom that’s already running an uphill battle. Remember: traditionally, CP fandoms are not expected or welcomed to last, and solos have been happy to (correctly) point out that the BTS, the origin of the most solid “evidences” of BJYXSZD, are getting older by the day. c-turtles can’t expect anyone else to help defend their ship if something happens, given CP fandoms’ lack of respectability, given YiZhan being a real person M/M pairing that is often frowned upon. So it’s understandable, to me at least, why c-turtles are on guard, and occasionally, clash with those who they feel may be trying to take away what they love.

i-turtles, I feel, don’t have that many reasons to fight. We don’t really have other fandoms (for example, the up and coming danmeis—the adapted BL dramas) vying for our attention (and wallets). No one can put an expiration date on the YiZhan communities except ourselves.

Another way to see this is: we—as in, the combined Gg + Dd international fanbase, the solos + CPFs—are lucky in a way the fans in Gg and Dd’s home country are not. Collectively, we’re much further removed from the pressure to perform as fans, which is immense in China with their fan circle culture and fan economy. i-shrimps and i-motorcycles ~ some of you are reading this, I think? (hello!) ~ here are my humble thoughts: the solo/turtle ratio of Gg and Dd’s international fans doesn’t make much of an impact on Gg and Dd’s star status, on the popularity metrics that matter. Our spending power is limited outside China’s borders, and while Gg and Dd likely love us equally as fans, our adoration for them doesn’t really matter much, if at all, to the production/media/commercial companies that control the trajectories of their careers. 

Along this line, the turtles’ “double loyalty” doesn’t have much of an ill effect, because there are few popularity contests here that mean much; few times (if any) when the turtles must face the dilemma of whether to vote for Gg or Dd because only a single vote is allowed; few situations where they have only x amount of dollars and must split it equally between Gg or Dd’s endorsements. There’s also much less cause to worry that i-turtles may draw the attention, or ire of the Chinese government ~ the whole international fanbase is too far away, too spread out to destabilise the regime in any way.

What the turtles do have in common with you, the solos, is their knowledge, their love for Gg/Dd. Knowledge, in particular. The people who know about Gg/Dd are still far and in between—at where I am, at least, and my guess is, it’s likely true for many of you too. Think of the turtles as people who you can talk to about your favourite star in places where few people know about him, can help promote The Untamed  far and wide—many people still haven’t heard of the show, and they deserve to.

For the turtles ~ no one can take away our turtle-ship identity, as long as we don’t give it away. No one can report on the our communities to the government and get them dissolved. Our votes, our spending habits are no one else’s business but ours here.

So, Anon, here’s what I think, and these are all very personal opinions, very personal decisions on how to navigate fandom …

I truly hope that we, as the international fanbase, can try to use this luck that we have. Make our communities not mere copies of their (combative) Chinese counterparts but something different, something with our own flavour, something with more peace and less fighting.

Specifically, I see little cause to try to persuade/dissuade anyone to be a solo/turtle. I find them… not the best use of time. Why? Because frankly, neither solos nor turtles have a better grasp of who Gg and Dd are. Neither solos nor turtles have a truly good grasp of who Gg and Dd are. These discussions are therefore bound to end up with more ill will than conclusions, since both sides are short of facts.

We’re all short of facts as audiences, who’ve all only seen a tiny sliver of who Gg and Dd are as human beings.

I don’t mean Gg and Dd’s star image is fake ~ it’s just that, their star image is their “work face”, and even I, a lowly turtle, must act somewhat differently in my own office. It’s part of being professional.

Gg and Dd’s star image are their professional face, and no professionals worth a salt truly ignore other’s opinions, especially when the profession is being an entertainer whose job is to face and hold the attention of the public. 

This is true for Gg; this is true for Dd.

Social media accounts are also part of Gg and Dd’s professional face ~ whatever is posted on there will be scrutinised by millions of fans, and they know that. The posts do provide some insights about Gg an Dd’s personalities, but they can’t be expected to show a complete picture. No parts of these posts, therefore, whether it’s the content or the kadians, are sufficient evidences for / against any aspect of their personal lives (especially as private an aspect as their romantic lives). Anon, you mentioned promotional marketing materials, and here’s my understanding of them ~ ambassadors such as Gg and Dd have minimal control over their design. The shrimp-holding bunny you’re referring to, for example, is very likely provided by the company.

However, may I also add this? Please try to not think of the shrimps / motorcycles as enemies of the turtles. Millions of people are behind each of these labels, and true for any group of this size, a fraction of its members are bound to be annoying. A small fraction may be awful, even. But they don’t represent the entire group. The shrimps are not only Gg’s fans, many of them have supported him longer than any turtle (since turtle-ship can’t be older than 2018); they’re also the reasons why Gg is in the industry ~ they voted for him in X-Fire. Likewise, a subset of motorcycles have been with Dd since UNIQ; they were there when the Korean ban effectively dissolved his group; they stuck with him when he was attacked for taking on the role of LWJ.

We’re all Gg and Dd’s fans, if you ask people outside the fandom. Remember: few outside China understand why heated arguments can occur between a bunch of shrimps, turtles and motorbikes. (It sounds a bit kafkaesque, just typing it out.)

It’s important not to lose sight too, that Gg and Dd’s social media accounts, where many new candies are found, primarily function as bridges of communication between them and their fans. These accounts do have different degrees of “professionalism” ~ Weibo and the official accounts being more formal, and Oasis, Douyin being more laid back and intimate; still, they all serve similar purposes. They’re not candy generators, or a script Gg and Dd have an obligation to follow to confirm / refute BJYXSZD.

Also: these accounts are accessible and watched by the public, not all of whom are friendly to Gg and Dd.

Re: Gg’s drawing on Oasis. He used the account as it’s intended for—to interact with his fans (the caption of the first draft was an unspoken invitation to shower him with ideas) and maybe, to show off a little (it was a very nice piece of artwork ~ a comment that I, sadly, haven’t seen much of). I doubt he posted his drawing because he wanted fans to carpet-search for traces of Dd in it (even though he probably expected that would happen); I very much doubt he posted his drawing because he wanted his fans to fight over scratch marks or black dots.  

If these fights keep happening, I can imagine a possible outcome. He’ll stop showing us his drawings. His social media accounts will become less and less personal, as they already have.

I’ll share with you my thoughts about candies too, while I’m at it. These are probably not-so-popular opinions, so please take them all with a grain of salt.(Salted caramels? 😊 )

I haven’t looked at why candies are called candies, but I find the name appropriate for how I think of them ~ candies are 1) neither evidences or truth, 2) sweet, 3) treats (non-essential, not like the main course).

The first point is, perhaps, the one I try the hardest to keep in mind. There are posts out there claiming the candies as made-beliefs—generated from edited pictures or videos, exaggerated translations, and their interpretations forced by “guidances” in the annotations/narration. There are also posts claiming that turtles are deceivers, or have been deceived by brainwashers who maliciously created these make-beliefs. A turtle may assume these posts are all lies, all made by antis. 

But, speaking turtle-to-turtle, I’d venture to say this … there’s some truth in the *first* statement. Many candies do, indeed, taste different if their taster returns to the original source—not necessarily unsweet, but less sweet. Candies, remember, are generated by fans like you and I. Same for c-candies ~ they aren’t endorsed by Gg and Dd, aren’t necessarily closer to the truth just because of the relative proximity of their birthplaces to their leads. 

Candy generation is The Tradition of CP fandoms. It’s a celebrated skill, and who doesn’t want to generate a candy that will be talked about, that will be part of the BJYX canon, for as long as the fandom lasts? Some fans are, therefore, also more … efficient in the “marketing” of the candies they generated — in persuading others that their candies are evidences, the truth. “Guidance” photos and videos (which pinpoint the place to watch, sometimes with appropriate sound effects for emphasis) have come about that way, and because they’re easy to digest—especially where language barriers exist—they end up spreading to i-fandoms.

These photos and videos may look more professional / trustworthy, but they often have an additional layer of subjectivity ~ on top of the already subjective opinion of what makes a candy. Translations (of BTS, fake rumours house content etc) also introduce a subjective element. Word choices can significant modify the tone of a conversation; speakers of different Chinese dialects may also have different interpretations of the same phrases. Example: I, as a non Chongqing/Sichuanese speaker, can guess the literal meaning of the “puppy” term Gg used for Dd — 狗崽崽 (gou zai zai) — but I also had to rely on others to tell me how endearing the term is; me being a Chinese speaker actually doesn’t make my interpretation any more valid, or authoritative, in this scenario, because my dialect doesn’t use this term at all. 

It doesn’t mean the people who’ve put in the work have any less-than-good intent; the vast majority of them come from a place of deep love. It’s just that we all carry our own perspectives, and as fans, our strong emotions in our fanworks.

This is why candies are often insufficient as good “points” for arguments, why they fail to convince non-believers, sometimes to the disappointment of some turtles. As evidences, they aren’t objective enough; they’re also often touch upon the assumption that’s mark the fundamental difference between solo and cp fans — the assumption that Gg and Dd are (not) together. Take, for example, this segment from a (polite) ask I got from an anon solo:

All the matching clothes, jewelry, shoes etc. Stopped being valid candy when I realized that the brands have popular stars "endorse" their products. The lightning pendant? Other actors have also worn it. Does that mean they are in a 3-way with (Gg) and (Dd)? Probs not.

Solo anon was correct! Brands have star endorsers, and other entertainers have, indeed, worn the same lightning pendant. The implied argument is also valid: people who don’t care about, don’t even know about each other can wear the same things. Most of us do that on a daily basis with our mass-produced garments.

However, a counterargument can also be made to the statement above, and easily: even the most precious, most beautiful wedding rings (say, from Tiffany!) are not exclusive to the first RL couple who bought them. It doesn’t mean the first RL couple is sleeping with all the couples who bought the same rings afterwards, doesn’t mean those rings aren’t significant to every one of these couples as romantic mementos. More often than not, couples wear matching things not because these things are exclusive to them—because how often can one find things that only exist as a single pair in this world? They wear matching things because they want to see something on themselves that remind them of their significant other and so, as long as the things aren’t so prevalent that everyone is wearing them, they can already serve their purpose.

But you see, Anon, that arguing over this would’ve been a waste of time? Because the solo came in with the assumption that Gg and Dd were not a couple, and the counterargument was made with the assumption that they were. The pendants alone are insufficient to prove either side correct or wrong. No one knows why those pendants ended up on Gg and Dd’s necks, except Gg and Dd and their teams. If I were to argue with anon solo, we can go on and on and on until we’re both left with bitter tastes in our mouths and WWX-red in our eyes, and forget the one thing that really matters: we’re both Gg’s fans.

(We could’ve spent the time talking about how that scene in The Wolf with Ji Chong throwing Zai Xing in the water is ❤️.) (I can’t believe the script waited 30+ episodes to do it. 😂)

This leads to my second point, Anon. Candies are meant to be sweet, and they’re meant to be sweet for you. In Chinese, a term for an expert candy person is a 嗑學家 (the candy-eating in CP fandoms is called 嗑糖 (ketang) ～ with 嗑 ke denoting a specific form of eating that requires breaking something open first with teeth—such as watermelon seeds; a 嗑學家 is a 嗑 (ke)-ologist). A 嗑學家 isn’t someone who can recall the longest list of candies, or spread the most candies around, or convince the most people that the CP behind the candies is real; they are those who can find their own candies in a source material, and be overjoyed by the sweetness of their discoveries without outside help. To me, at least, this term encapsulates the subjective nature of candies ~ what’s right for you may not be right for me and vice versa, and that’s perfectly all right. In other words, there are many candies out there but you’re not required to believe in all of them; instead, you’re free to choose candies to your own liking, compose your own version of the BJYX canon that you love, that you find sweet.

Wait, but you may say. Doesn’t that make my canon fantasy? Yes and no, because candies are based on real events. They’re interpretations, which sit somewhere between reality and fantasy. They’re like … opinion shows on news channels.

But what if I need to convince people of my canon —

Your “opposition”’s canon is as fantastical, and as real as yours — maybe it isn’t, but neither of you have a way to prove it one way or another.

Wouldn’t solos call me delulu, or clowns?

Maybe. But one step outside the fandom, and all of us fans—solo and cpfs—are delulu, clowns.

(That’s why while I’ve used the cpn label, I haven’t called myself delulu, or a clown. Anyone who thinks I have the truth about the love story about a pair of idol I haven’t met from thousands of miles away … the joke’s probably on them, don’t you think?)

Of course and again, Anon, this is only my take! I like candies precisely because I like to watch the real-time generation of candies, which ones different people claim as their own, which candies fall away and which stick around in the fandom over time. As a fic writer, this ship has gifted me with a treasure trove of information ~ what do people think of as romantic gestures, as give-away signs of love? The fun/amazing part of BJYX is that candies are available for so many different answers to these questions. Some people think of longing gazes and sweet smiles; some think of touches that can’t be helped (the many, many, many “fights”); some think of service (buying foods, designing clothes); some think of caring about the other’s well-being (throat candies and dumplings + noodles + crackers); some think of being The Other’s One and Only Exception (Dd being so talkative around Gg, Gg being so … fussy around Dd); some think of expressions through the arts (songs, drawings, dances); some think of grand gestures (the wave heart in the ocean); some think of matching clothes and symbolic accessories (rings); some think of birthdays and anniversaries (314, 622, the first snow); some think of sharing life’s hassles and small tidbits (fake rumour house); some think of … just looking VERY good together. Etc etc.

Some think of a subset of these, some think of all of these…

(Personally, I’m a very picky candy eater. I know about many of them, but only a small fraction impresses on me.)

(Still, I love watching candies. I love watching the joy of people sweetened by them ~ or, when c-turtles exclaim kswl! — the short form of ke si wo le! 嗑死我了! I “ke”ed so much I’m dying!)

This gets to 3), Anon, and I apologise to you too, for answering your not-essay-at-all with an essay! Candies are, to me, treats, and I don’t expect them to come at any frequencies higher than treats do. The reason isn’t because I don’t like candies ~ I enjoy watching them, as I said, even if I don’t eat many of them; the reason is because I don’t expect anyone’s romantic love to leave a trace in everything they do. For example, if I truly find myself in a SZD/SJD discussion re: Gg’s drawing, I’d say the lack of Dd in Gg’s self-portrait doesn’t really mean much. Even if Gg and Dd were head-over-heels in love with one another, Gg doesn’t have to put Dd in everything he touches. Likewise, Dd doesn’t have to present a consistent, or decipherable story with his kadians. This is true for the real-life couples around us too, isn’t it? They don’t perform every single act in life leaving a noticeable trace of their significant other. And the misunderstanding that couples do that — that their romantic lives take over who they are as individuals — IMO, partially explains why people who choose to not to date or marry, people who’re aro-aces, often have a difficult time convincing others that they’re complete humans. Romantic love is, of course, very, very important and can be life altering, but it also isn’t everything about a person ~ especially not if a person who has a career as exciting as Gg’s and Dd’s. Gg and Dd who also have friends, family, (many) talents and interests …

(And lots of ugly icons on their cell phones. Yes, I’m talking about you, Gg. That long-armed Pepe from your 2018 snowless Beijing post will give me nightmares…)

[omgkalyppso]

Coffee Shop AU writing prompt for your FE OT4: :"There is a big storm outside and yes, we were all warned, but some people have to work and now there is this group of people starting to make this small café their own for the next couple of hours till the storm eases up or we get rescued"

Hi. Thank you for this ancient ask. I struggled with this. Although I love reading coffee shop AUs, I've never written one. Why would you hit on a cashier? So. This is Something. 2,454 words below the cut; 2,600 words total.

.

"This puddle is disgusting," Fae said, in dark water past their ankles. A chill ran up their spine as they tried not to think of why it might be slushy.

"This is awfullll-ugh!" Hilda groaned from her place on Fae's back, tilting her toes to purposefully avoid it.

"We just need to go into the next open business," Lorenz repeated with a frown.

A wall of sandbags protected them from the veritable river flowing down the main road, where blocked and overworked catchbasins failed. The depth of the water had rendered it unsafe to use the rental vehicle, some distance away, and Lorenz wondered whether it would ever start again, when the storm had passed.

"But what if—" Fae started to object.

"There!" Hilda interrupted, pointing to where a bar, a pizza place and a coffee shop stood in a line across the next side street.

.

They were only out here because of a job interview that she should have refused, and Hilda was eager to get her friends out of the storm. Even if she got the position, if they were unwilling to reschedule in these circumstances, they seemed like they would be a nightmare to work for.

They waited as the wind scattered a few more sheets of rain between them and their destination, and ran in an arc uphill to avoid the depth of the water on the main road when they made their was across the side street. Still Lorenz leaned out as far as he could, to marvel over where the sea threatened to spill up into the city of Derdriu, a dozen blocks away.

The bar was actually full, extra sandbags by their patio ensuring the safety of a crowd who looked out at the trio in the storm with judgment and incredulity. Lorenz exchanged a glance with the others, and then they continued past. The pizza place was empty save the staff, and they likely wouldn't want to face three relative tourists.

This meant that they ducked inside Tall, Dark and Delectable: a three story cafe that boasted of comfort and meeting spaces.

Though they couldn't see it, the uppermost floor had signage requesting quiet, intended for library-like study, and though they didn't know it, the second floor was tragically treated like a high school cafeteria by their usual clientele, messy and loud. The main floor had the smallest amount of public space, three scattered tables, two couches and twin armchairs, and a counter meant for take out.

The tables had been pulled from the front of the shop, the floor damp and occupied by a Caution Wet sign, because the large windows were opened to the storm, allowing rain to scatter naturally. Upon their entry, two of the three people in uniforms stood, one rushing to a mop by the door to tend to the scant puddle, and the other approaching them with a customer service smile.

Besides the staff, one of the tables was occupied with another crowd of four, and it made the intruders feel a little less self-conscious about their entry. They were regretful about being soaked however, Fae and Lorenz especially from the knees down, but the staff seemed more sympathetic than anything about the muck and water they dragged in around them.

Hilda's heel slipped on the slick floor as Fae set her down from their back, and she threw a hand back to try and catch herself, but ended up slapping the door so that it opened half an inch, but, luckily, Lorenz caught her opposing wrist to stop her from falling through it or back outside.

The server held up a hand in front of his chest.

"Nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Me too," Hilda peeped, brow furrowed and lips pouting, humiliated and fighting adrenaline as she let Lorenz squeeze her wrist and shoulder, confirming her stability.

"You're okay?" Fae confirmed, feeling guilty, moreso when snickers came from the occupied table.

"I'm fine."

"Sorry about..." Lorenz trailed off, gesturing behind him.

"Excuse me?" Hilda exaggerated, insulted.

"The puddle!" Lorenz said purposefully, offended that she would think him so insensitive about her momentary slip.

"That's probably some of our fault," the other server said in apology, sweeping the mop around the caution sign.

"So long as you're alright," said the staff member who'd come to meet them. "Maybe take a seat and not a sofa, though? At least until you dry a little. I imagine you're here for the long haul?"

"Is it likely to wind down?" asked Fae.

The server chuckled softly. "Uh, no. You might want to walk uphill and call a cab, but rideshares are ... sparse, charging a premium, and the wait'll definitely be a few hours."

"So might as well have a coffee," Hilda said, in better spirits, or trying to be.

"Now you're getting it," the server teased with a wink, extending a hand as Hilda walked past him.

"Do you have a reduced menu, under the circumstances?" asked Lorenz.

"Not yet, anyway. Might be fun if you pick something complicated."

"Oh?" Hilda balked. "A lot of teas. I'll try rose grapefruit?" She looked at Lorenz as she added, "Whatever's your largest size?"

Lorenz nodded, and the server asked, "Name? Nope. Sorry, force of habit." He rolled a pen between his fingers in a fluid motion. "I'll know who you are."

"Black rose?" Lorenz requested. "And Fae?"

"I'll try the chocolate earl grey latte?"

"Perfect," agreed the server.

"Should we eat something?" Lorenz asked the others.

Hilda sighed, as if disappointed. She plucked a sandwich from the fridge in front of Lorenz and left it on the counter, and he and Fae followed suit. Lorenz added a chocolate bar that could be broken into squares, and watched as the server rang them up for small sized beverages.

"Oh! Wai—"

"Don't worry about it," the server said with a wink. "You look like you need to catch a break."

Lorenz sighed, feeling guilty about their circumstances. He tipped ten dollars on top of whatever change he was owed, and shrugged at the man behind the counter as he stepped away to sit with Fae and Hilda.

They moved to the table farthest from the windows, as their damp clothes and the continuous breeze had Hilda's teeth chattering. The temperature was warm, but for the most part, the wind had a cooling effect inside the business, and Fae sat Hilda beside them and across from Lorenz, where they could wrap a warm arm around her, and he could extend a hand if he were feeling bold.

.

"Hey Cyril, you going to help me?" Claude asked when their latest customers moved to sit.

"No, thanks," Cyril said simply, dropping back down into one of the armchairs.

Claude rolled his eyes, partly because he didn't really need the help, but mostly because he was frustrated that Cyril was still holding Claude's uncle's decision to keep the shop open against him, as if he'd had any say in it. Having an aversion to working with or for family, Claude had been at this job for less than two months, and if anyone should have argued on their behalf, it should have been Hubert, but he had his own reasons to enjoy the work.

Currently in hushed conversation with his friends, Hubert was as distracted as he always was when that fair haired woman came in.

Claude was pretty sure she was slowly leaving an abusive household, whether romantic or familial he couldn't guess, but he could appreciate why Hubert was slow and awkward about expressing his affection, and why he never objected when she and her friends came in to loiter.

The windows rattled, and everyone turned to look at them, but when nothing broke and the wind died down, Claude went back to working.

He'd been surprised by the tip, but figured that his concern about strangers in the storm had simply been mirrored by the customer's sympathy for workers in the storm. It was really flooding now, it wouldn't be the first time he'd expect a boat to sound out that supplies and medical attention were available, but for now, the loudest noise in the shop was him clattering away at the equipment, preparing three extra larges.

He walked over to the destined table, where they were in hushed conversation, and hesitated in a way that he hoped wasn't impolite, catching sight of the three joined hands on the table's surface before they all snapped back towards their owners.

"Here you are," Claude said, by way of offering them their drinks.

"Thank you," said the pink haired woman with the rain smudge eyeliner. Her eyes drifted across him, and she added, "Claude."

He ran a hand over his nametag absently, smiling as he realized he wasn't being scrutinized — maybe.

"No problem." He could've left it at that, but instead he asked, "Tourists?"

"Mostly," agreed the green haired patron.

"How'd you get trapped in all this?" he asked, gesturing with a finger.

"I had a job interview," confessed the pink haired woman, swiping her fingers through her bangs, "but now I don't know that I'd even want the job."

"Well, from personal experience, I've found that moving to Derdriu for professional reasons is ... challenging," Claude said, leaning on the free chair at their table, and then he didn't know what he was doing, feeling as though he should leave them alone. "I work on whatever projects I can pick up for underwater filming."

"You go diving?" asked the purple haired man.

"Not in this," Claude teased about the weather. "But whenever I can. Have three homemade cameras to take with me."

Was it because he'd felt he'd walked in on something personal that he felt it was only right to open up? Was it that they were easy to talk to?

Claude sat one table over, still measuring how invasive he was being, but the conversation seemed amical, and easy. They didn't formally introduce themselves, but he easily pieced together their names, and a little bit more of their business than he'd intended to collect, while gossiping about what Derdriu was like for foreigners, and where they might want to check out after the streets finished draining in about two days.

He only hesitated again when, halfway through their drinks, their sandwiches finished, Lorenz opened and snapped apart the chocolate, offering pieces to each of his companions. It should have been companionable, there wasn't anything decidedly un-friendly about it, but Claude still wondered about the ritual of it, and what else they shared, with care and practice.

He was glad Fae was telling a story then, realizing how dry his mouth had become. He raised a finger to request a moment and poured himself a glass of water before returning to the table.

Hilda opened her mouth to speak, but found herself interrupted by a bang, the sound of an accident less than a block away, and half the cafe yelped as the power went out.

Claude rushed to the door just ahead of Cyril, and after a moment or two of muffled yelling, Claude was cursing as he forced Cyril back inside as he chased after him, water rushing in behind the duo.

"What the shit, Claude?" called Hubert, standing.

"Someone drove into the hydro pole at the corner," said Claude as he and Cyril secured the door as best they could. "It hasn't fallen yet, but it might, and when the guy from the Venomous Knight came out on his cellphone to put in a call about it, he knocked over three of the sandbags."

Hubert growled and disappeared into the back, soon followed by Cyril while Claude closed the windows. Claude wondered how they looked to the patrons in the cafe, as he joined in the march, piling seven sandbags around the door while Hubert tried reaching his uncle.

To no one's surprise, they were going to close. One of Hubert's friends had a house, and the destination of their crowd was settled. Cyril had his bike and lived uphill, and he was raring to leave. That left Claude's new friends of mostly-tourists, staying at a hotel that was maybe a twenty minute drive down the highway, but at least a two hour walk on foot.

"Is there a closer hotel that you know of?" asked Lorenz, and Claude felt his heart fall through the floor. That was a far more reasonable solution than his mind rattling around with the idea of inviting them back to his sixth floor apartment. Even if it was more expensive.

The crowd was escorted out the back of the shop, and Hubert scoffed when Claude implied he was going to walk their three latest customers to a hostel six blocks away, but that was fine.

It was slow going, with Hilda's poor choice in footwear and the wind, but also because of the continued conversation. Claude had dark brown rainboots and a bright yellow raincoat to change into, but he kept the hood down, even as water saturated his hair and rushed over his eyes, gossiping about other harsh weather and assuring the others every few steps that they were nearly there.

Fae pulled Claude into the hostel when they arrived, so they could bring their phone to life in a drier environment, and ask him about sharing numbers, maybe to thank him later, or else to ask about scuba diving in a few days. He wasn't sure there needed to be a difference, and against Ignatz's advice, texted them once he arrived home, to assure them he'd made it through the storm.

.

The hostel had rules against sharing rooms, and so Fae, Lorenz and Hilda found themselves crowded in the communal living room with two other couples, for the sake of keeping each other's company a little later into the night.

Lorenz sat on a chair by a window, Hilda in his lap. She would be warmer wrapped in a blanket in bed, but she was making due with leeching off Lorenz, one hand on her thigh and the other holding the back of an upper arm, cradling her close and transferring body heat. Fae sat in the windowsill and when their phone buzzed again, Lorenz looked to the clock on the other end of the room before expressing his surprise.

"Are you still texting him?" It was nearing midnight, and while there was little else to do at the hostel, Lorenz worried about boundaries.

"He's still texting me," Fae said in their defense. "Besides, what's the harm in making a new friend in Derdriu?"

"He was very kind," Lorenz agreed. "He left a very good first impression. But I wouldn't you to be lulled into complacency. He is a stranger."

Hilda snickered as she sat up from Lorenz's chest. "You sound like an old man."

"You're worried he'd want sex?" asked Fae, so nonchalant that Lorenz scoffed.

"I'm worried he'd be obsessive, or otherwise hurt you. Or us."

"That's fair," Fae conceded, leaving Claude on Read. "I just thought he seemed fun."

"And cute," Hilda contributed, her tone making plain that she thought so too.

Lorenz blushed and swept a hand over his lips, squinting in his own meager defense when the other two looked at him. He murmured, "Did you see his shoulders while he carried those sandbags?" When Fae and Hilda giggled, Lorenz rolled his eyes and pointed at nothing as he said more forcefully, "That's not a character assessment."

"No," Fae agreed, "but it might be enough to invite him to get ice cream or something, as a thank you."

[octalove]

X: The Bottom

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: One way or another, it all catches up. Previous.

After I all but fled from Jason’s, I came home to a dark house. Unsurprising- it was around midnight, and that was usual patrol time. I hadn’t bothered to patch up my face, or anything else. I didn’t have the mental capacity at the moment. Just as I was about to limp up the stairs and retreat, by phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, looking at the caller ID.

Bruce.

I answered without thinking; my whole body was on autopilot at the moment.

“H-hello?”

“You’re home.”

I didn’t bother confirming or denying. I nodded, even though he obviously didn’t know that.

“Come down to the cave.”

And that was that. The thing was, I was exhausted, covered in my own blood, scared and high-strung. I wanted to see him. I wanted someone to help me- to tell me it was gonna be okay. I wanted my father.

I stumbled down into the dark, hoping the adrenaline comedown wouldn’t send me crashing to the floor. Bruce, Damian, and Alfred were in the cave, looking over monitors and running interference with Nightwing and Oracle. My eyes sluggishly dragged over them. Not one of their faces gave anything away. They just took in my appearance and held mannequin expressions.

“Explain.” Bruce’s voice held all the tension of a migraine. It was the biggest, widest, deepest question I’d ever been asked. I didn’t know how to answer, so I didn’t.

“Y/N.”

“I... I’m...”

“Answer me.”

“You don’t understand.” My voice was rising with the panic that flit like a bird around my head. I knew I was unraveling, but Bruce had no idea what the past few months looked like for me. What it was like to know Penelope D’amici, and to want revenge for her- then to have it, ten fold. To watch the man responsible have his head slowly made unrecognizable, then to fight Jason Todd, who was a furious, wild thing and an icy phantom all at once.

“You don’t-“

“Enough.” It was an order so hard and sharp that I quieted. He composed himself. “Enough. You need to tell me what you’ve been doing tonight. Now.”

I shook my head, taking a couple steps back to put some safe distance in between us.

“No... I can’t handle this.”

“I know that. You’ve proven to me more than a handful of times that you can’t handle this.” I looked at him, but I couldn’t seem to register all of the stern disappointment he wore.

“You’ve completely lost grip in the last few months, and it’s become quite apparent that you’re no longer able to shoulder the responsibility of your place within our cause.”

of your place within our company. I could almost hear the words. I wanted to laugh; bitterly, sadly.

They worked for him and so do you. Only difference is they worked for Bruce and you work for Batman.

I worked for Batman. I was getting fired.

“Consider yourself barred until we can figure whether or not you truly value the safety of Gotham over your own whims and emotions.”

“But, Batgirl-“

“I don’t need Batgirl, Y/N.”

I was expecting it, but the fatalistic tone in his voice still hit me- like a book slamming shut before I got to read the end.

It was the weight of the past few months that sent me reeling thereafter. I didn’t leave time to consider a response before I turned and scaled to steps to the manor, bolting through the silent, dark house and making it back to my bedroom. The door slammed shut. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to organize the events of the night.

Finally, an involuntary sob escaped me. One hand went over my mouth as the other gripped the sheets for some merciful steadying element. I gasped, shoulders shaking, and tears streaking through the blood on my face.

I sat there for a while, going over the night’s near-misses, Bruce’s words, and the resulting mixture of disappointment and fear.

It would’ve been better if I had just stay where I was that night in Otisburg. Just stayed gargoyle-still and watched over the peaceful streets.

But I didn’t- and now I didn’t know where to begin. At least Jason knew who to hate. I couldn’t hate any of them because it was nobody’s fault but my own. It wasn’t Bruce’s fault I was reckless, and it wasn’t Jason’s fault he was angry. Both of them were bigger and more dauntless than I was, and between them, I was nothing. My mind restlessly searched for somewhere to shift the blame, so that maybe I could feel justified in my ceaseless pity- until I’d exhausted every option and teetered on the edge of lying to myself. I disillusioned myself by turning on the shower head.

The water burned my wounds, but there was an overall comfortable warmth in the writhing steam and dancing water at my feet. Though safely enveloped in my fervid baptism, a new great chasm erupted in the space between myself and my family. A foreign distance jaggedly inserting itself into the marble of the mansion, tectonic plates shifting with the bodies in the foundations.

I had outgrown the skyscrapers. I’d surpassed the tallest spire in Gotham. And now, helplessly, gracelessly, I was falling.

*

When I blinked my eyes open, it was still dark. My head ached from the pressure of crying, and I could feel how swollen my eyes were. The cool sheets beneath my head were a relief. Checking my phone, I saw that it was almost 5 am. The part of the night that was only a few hours ago seemed now like a mature memory. I had several missed calls from Dick, and one from Babs. A text from Tim just a few minutes old asking if I was awake.

There was a knock on the door, and foggily, I realized that it was the sound that had woken me up the first place. I pulled myself to a sitting position, and faced the door.

“Come in.” My voice was hoarse, so it was a raspy whisper at best. Still, the door cracked open, dim light from the hall flooding into the room. My aching eyes fell on Dick’s face, changed from his uniform into sweatpants and a t-shirt. He had a new bruise on his arm, but otherwise seemed alright.

There were no words from him as he stepped into the dark, settling on the edge of my bed in a slow, tired way. I didn’t look at him. He reached for me, and I realized he had a bandage in his hand. Then, I remembered the laceration on my cheek, and as if on cue, the cold, still air of my room began to irritate it. It stung as he applied a couple of butterfly bandages to hold it together, and then a larger one to cover the expanse of my cheek. I must have looked pathetic. Too pathetic to reprimand, so he settled instead for a weighty silence.

“You’ll need stitches.” He said finally.

A silver gray light was sleeping through the blinds, the last labored breaths of an aging night disappearing with the arrival of dawn. He sighed, letting his hands fall away from my face.

“I haven’t been here.” He said quietly. “I haven’t been here for you, and I wasn’t there for him, and now...”

A siren wailed somewhere in the city.

“...and now... now it’s all happening again, and I’m making the same mistakes, aren’t I?”

“No.” I whispered. “You’re not.”

I couldn’t stop the tears, even though I was sick of crying. I felt his hand on my back, and I leaned into his shirt as I sobbed.

“I was so terrified.” I confessed, muffled by the fabric. “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen. I didn’t want either of you to get hurt.”

“I know. I saw you. He didn’t hurt me, Y/N. I wasn’t going to hurt him, either.”

“I just... we were doing so much good. Cliffs- he killed that girl. He shot her in her own bed, just like my moms-“

“Shh...” He pulled his other arm around me, wrapping me up. It should have felt safe, but I only felt the guilt and grief filling my chest, like fighting a tide in a raging sea. A hopeless, uphill fight against the non-sentience of things you can’t take back. “It’s alright.” Dick said. “I know you had all the right reasons. I know.”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter, now.”

“That’s not true. It’s not too late for him, and it’s not too late for you.”

I watched the light from my window grow stronger, a lulling, gradual transition.

“It just needs time.”

*

And so, I was given time. Its passage became a blur. Christmas break came, to my relief, because I wouldn’t have been able to handle to upkeep of school, even if I usually could hold myself together. I still did things like woke up, had coffee, and walked in the garden. I went to a café to get a seasonal drink I wanted to try, and went shopping at the gaudy mall in Fashion District on a Saturday. My phone was tapped of course, and I was fairly certain my car had been chipped. Just one of the side effects; reflective shards of shattered trust that pricked me, but helped me see clearly. Every night, I went to bed.

Normal things. Terrible, standard, ordinary things. It was all a rythmic reminder that I was now ordinary.

Hopelessness was no stranger to me. I had hopelessness in excess, and it kept me in bed some days, left to rot in my own sorrow and self pity, and Bruce allowed me that. I still went down to the cave and asked about unfolding cases, because the utter absence of control left me holding onto whatever was left with white knuckles.

Tim dipped gracefully around me, like when I entered the room, the wooden floors became broken glass, and if he didn’t flee within two minutes his feet would fall victim.

Dick was the opposite; overbearing in every sense of the word. Texting, calling, even bringing me gifts. It felt insultingly akin to charity.

Damian braved me. It was that stubborn little whim he often had. He probably liked it- everyone not knowing what to do with me. He initiated conversation because he reveled in the idea that everyone else was too scared to.

And as for me, starkly situated between Jason’s hate and Dick’s overbearing management and Bruce’s disappointment, Damian bringing me a bowl of peach slices or indulging me about how a case was going was nice. I never would’ve guessed Damian al Ghul Wayne would be the keeper of my sanity, but even pigs could probably fly under the right circumstances.

Not a word from Jason. Despite our final words to one another, I ached for all that came before. His jagged laugh, and dark, attentive eyes. The way he never put his head down, like he had pride under his chin. The way he watched and listened. I didn’t want to be alone anymore; the kind of alone where you’re surrounded by people but not a single one of them has any idea who or what you are. I wasn’t my mothers’ daughter. I wasn’t Batgirl. I knew that.

But what was I to him? He didn’t like me because I was Batgirl- he hated Batgirl. He liked me because-

because...

I tried to think of a reason. Any reason he would let me push away his helmet of the darkness of that alley. Why he would kiss me on the balcony of Olivier D’amici’s Luskan townhouse. Not needy, not lustful, not vengeful. Just an ordinary kiss. Ordinary.

Ding.

[gallavictorious]

concerning the ask about Ian bein the eldest child - I wonder how his relationship with Micky would even play out, when he'd have less free time and maybe a more realistic (less romanticized) view on life in general? Like, do you think he would chase after him like he did in the earlier seasons? I don't know, the whole "Ian is the eldest child" is facinating to me

Oh, this is an interesting one! I think there’s two different aspects to consider here: 1, would Ian and Mickey even be interested in one another if Ian were the eldest, and 2, if so, would pursuing a relationship be feasible under these circumstances?

I'll deal with the first issue briefly, and then with the second one at some length. Lots of different parameters to take into account here... This is obviously going to be speculative as hell, and I’m teasing the whole thing out as I type, but let’s see–

As was mentioned in the discussion that promted this ask, it’s difficult to know to what degree Ian’s personality would have been different, had he been born the eldest child – and even harder to know how that would have affected his compatibility with Mickey. He’d probably still would have been tough as well as compassionate, two qualities I believe are key to him being attractive to Mickey, but I’m less certain that Ian would have found Mickey quite as charming if he was already saddled with the responsibility for five younger siblings and a drunken father… ? And maybe Mickey embodying the South Side male in ways that mirror both Terry and Frank (look at their similar choices in clothing) would have been more of a turn off for firstborn!Ian, since he’d be the one who primarily had to deal with consequences of Frank’s many failings? Ian being a bit of a chameleon himself has him being more appreciative of Mickey being so extremely unconcerned about the opinions of others, but he might have been less amused with Mickey’s crudeness if he was dealing with a lot of other shit already? Then again, maybe none of this would have mattered! Maybe Mickey’s directness might be especially refreshing if your life’s generally a huge fucking tangle and you have slippery fuckers Monica and Frank to contend with on a daily basis. And although I think that the fact that canon!Ian often feels a bit invisible and like he's living in Lip's shadow might contribute to him fighting so hard for that connection he feels with Mickey – chasing after him, as you say – it might well be that even if he'd been the eldest, he'd still be seeking that out, because so much of his life and time is dedicated to his siblings and he yearns for something that is only his, only for him.

No easy or immediate answer to this question, though I suspect most of us prefer to think that they’d have liked each other anyway. Heaven knows there are plenty of AU:s built on this assumption.

Oh, and then there’s the whole question of pheromones. Now, obviously that’s not the be-all and end-all on sexual attraction, but given how very quickly Ian and Mickey go from trying beat the creap out of each other to eagerly fucking, and how Ian is very clear about liking the way Mickey smells, I think it’s fair to say that chemical compatibility is a pretty big factor in them first getting together. (It sure as hell isn’t the only one, but still.) With that in mind, I may or may not have had my partner, who’s a clinical research biologist, look into the epigenetic properties of pheromones (i.e. to find out if how you grow up might affect your natural body musk to the point where you’d be chemically attractive to other people than you are now). It’s not entirely clear and – predictably – the research done on what part pheromones play in sexual attraction among humans has been primarily focused on attraction in heterosexual people, but it seems that conditions in the womb and external factors in childhood (as well as changes later in life, such going on the pill, being stressed or having a disease) would affect your smell. However, we can’t readily know if and to what degree just being born first and having to take on the responsibilities of being the oldest sibling would affect Ian’s musk, and if it would decrease how attractive he is to Mickey (that it would increase it seems an impossibility because these two are already so insanely, stupidly horny for one another).

Okay. Having tentatively concluded that we can’t know for sure whether or not Ian and Mickey would still be into each other had Ian been born first (and hence not been quite the same person), let’s recklessly assume that they would, and turn to far more intriguing discussion of how their relationship would actually play out.

Do we imagine that Ian is a few years older than Mickey then, the same age as Fiona would have been at the start of canon? Maybe it doesn't matter much – it's not a huge difference, but to be honest I feel a little ickey about it since Ian would be an adult and Mickey still a teenager (and not a particularly well-adjusted and healthy one at that). Hmm. Either way, I can see them getting together in much the same way, with Ian doing something nice for Mandy – intervening when she's harassed at the local store, maybe, sparking a little hero crush on her part – and that whole thing going down more or less as it does in canon. But if it does, and Mickey and his goons beats up Ian's younger brother Lip in Ian's stead, I think eldest child!Ian might be really, really pissed and out for blood? Which gives him a nice incentive to go look for Mickey, even if Kash is not part of this picture (and I think that he's probably not). So far, so good... but if Ian's this much older than Mickey – four years? – Ian will already have started to fill out, right, turning all tall and buff, and Mickey might not have such an easy time overwhelming him. Then again, that might not necessarily serve as a deterrent to Mickey at all, so the end result is probably still the same, surprise sex fuelled by adrenaline, pheromones and general compatibility.

But... then what? To be honest, I think it'd be very difficult to make it work under these circumstances. If Ian is older than Mickey, Mickey might well have a much harder time feeling safe with him, just because he might feel like he doesn't have the upper hand in the relationship – and in the beginning I think it was VERY important for Mickey to feel like he had control and was calling the shots on when and how they met up. Four or five years is not a big difference at all later in life, but if you're 16 and your lover is 21 (or thereabouts, I'm still not super clear on the timeline, but ballpark) and they're also used to running an entire household and therefore accustomed to being in charge... I don't see this working for Mickey, not enough so that he dares let his guard down to the point required for their relationship to develop.

As for Ian, I think he'd have far less patience with Mickey's standoffishness and unwillingness to committ or even admit that they have anything beyond sex. Ian wouldn't have the time or energy or disposition to deal with that, not on top of everything else, and furthermore, it seems like it'd be very hard to keep his clandestine meeetings with Mickey secret when he's the lynchpin of the family, always taking calls and dealing with sudden emergencies. To make it properly work with Fiona, JimmySteve has to more or less move in more or less immediately and adjust his life to fit with her chaos; it'd arguably be the same for Ian, yeah? Don't really see the still very much closeted (and terrified) Mickey actually doing that – moving in, helping out with the kids and what-not. (One could also hope that Ian realizes that pursuing a relationship with a still underage Mickey would be inappropriate and calls it off for those reasons.)

So, realistically, if there's an age difference and they meet at the same time as they do in canon, I think there might be a few hook-ups, but it would fall apart rather soon, in spite of their very strong attraction. But! Maybe in a few years, when Mickey's older and the age difference less meaningful, and Mickey's had the chance to become a little more accepting of himself and his orientation, and Ian's siblings are just a little bit older so that Ian can take some more time for himself... maybe then they could run into each other again and that old spark roar back into life and they take it from there? It'd still be an uphill struggle, of course, but they've dealt with those before and always – eventually – come out on top. The whole Svetlana thing never happened, Mickey is fully on his way to coming into his own at the king of the South Side, Ian is trying to figure out who he is outside of the Big Brother, maybe Mickey is out, maybe he's not, maybe Terry is gone, maybe he's not... If one is so inclined, I think there's some fun to be had with this idea. I am, however, more partial to another:

Say that Ian's still born when he was born, so still a couple of years (according to the forms they fill out when applying for a marriage license) younger than Mickey. Maybe then, even in spite of his added burdens and responsibilities, he'd still be naive and soft enough to have a bit more patience for bad boy Mickey? It'd be before Monica ran out on them, so maybe there are still times (few and far between) when Ian doesn't have to take full responsibility for his siblings; times when he can pursue what he wants instead. And Mickey would feel more in control and safer dealing with babyface!Ian, so maybe he'd dare a bit more?

Maybe he starts hanging out at the Gallagher house after that first fuck, for a chance to be near Ian. The rest of the siblings would be young enough that he feels confident (although perhaps mistakenly) that they'll not pick up on what's going on, so as long as Frank and Monica are out (or out of it), Mickey's happy to come around. Hang out, fuck whenever they can, maybe even help out a tiny little bit when Ian makes him, and in spite of his best efforts and intentions he gets more and more pulled into Ian's life. This, I think, could potentially work, although I expect the same sort of up and downs as we get in canon. Mickey probaby won't get shot by Kash (because I think eldest child!Ian would be a little less susceptible to his ”charms”), but Frank could still – very easily – walk in on them. It would get overwhelming at times and Mickey would push Ian away and flee; Ian would get impatient with Mickey's insistence on distance and NO EMOTIONS ONLY SEX (more so than he is in canon, I think) and tell him to shape up or fuck off. It'd be volatile for sure, but in the end I think they'd always return to each other, adapt and try a little bit harder to make it work. Pull's just to strong, you know? Maybe it'd even happen faster than in canon, if Mickey isn't sent to juvie that first time, and if they have more opportunities to spend time together doing stuff other than fucking (ie just hanging out at the Gallagher house under the pretext that Mickey's just a friend, which Mickey would allow, thinking the younger siblings clueless). Really wouldn't mind reading this fic, you know, though I'd mourn Ian's relationship with Lip in this alternative reality. (Like, there’s SO MUCH potential! Maybe Mickey lures Frank and Monica away on a drug weekend just so he can stay at the house with Ian, even if it does mean having the help out with the little ones! I can see angry teenage Mickey being made to help Debbie with her math homework! Feed baby Liam! Supposed to stop tiny Carl from doing horrible stuff but ending up helping him instead! Ian is not amused! I want it!)

So, uh. That's my speculative take on this, for now. Very open to being swayed by other people's opinions, though, so I'd love to hear them, or whatever additional thoughs you might have.

Thank you so much for the ask: I had a lot of fun thinking about this, and hope that you found somet sort of satisfaction in my long-winded ramblings. <3 Also, I'm sorry it took so long to get back to you! As I've noted before, I'm unreliable (and sometimes busy).

[vegetacide]

Veggie art’ing Part II complete…  This is a continuation of THIS 

Also for something a bit new as I had several notes asking what was going on with the previous pic I wrote a little something to accompany this.  It took a rather unexpected direction on me as I had ordinally intended for this to be a reconciliation picture..   Just were my mind veered for some reason.. I blame these two idiots…

I have spent far too long plunking away at this so bare with me if its absolutely crap. 

Anyway.. if you wish to read it.. look check out below 

Working title: …haven’t come up with one yet.. meh. Sue me

Blanket warning: Hints to adult subject matter that some might find offensive or triggery..mentions of past trama…. etc etc

Rating: Teen.. I guess

Word count: 2726 words 

Characters: Virgil/Kayo

Fandom: TaG’verse A/U

Location: My made up beach house located somewhere on Tracy Island..  

Veggie notes:   Any errors are completely my own and I am sure I will catch them at some point on one of my obsessive read throughs of self doubt.  :D

Enjoy…

o0o 

Damn, how in the world had it come to this? 

Virgil watched as she padded on quiet, bare feet across the beach house deck.  Retreating again and effectively shutting him out.  Her slender shoulders so small under the too big flannel of his shirt, were hunched as she protectively wrapped her arms around herself. Closing off like she always did when things got too close and too real for her to deal with. 

His chest hurt, a dull ache behind his breast bone and he rubbed at it subconsciously.  Like his heart was too big and in its floundering it was trying to break through the meager sack of flesh that housed it.

Cursing, he rubbed at it again and resisted the urge to drive his fist in the plastered wall of the beach house.  The effort wouldn’t serve any meaningful purpose anyways other than splitting his knuckles. There was no detracting from his present circumstances and potential broken bones wouldn’t change that. 

He should have taken more care with his words instead of letting his thoughts run free as he did and he kicked himself for his short sightedness,  not that it fixed anything.  He’d been too caught up in his own little world,  completely forgetting the reality they were living and now here they were. 

On opposing ends of a vast chasm.  Him holding on with all his might to keep his family whole while Kayo fought against it. The horrible twisted image of family that a mad man had imprinted on her at too young an age warping her view on things to the detriment of them both.    An idea she had been fighting her whole life to make different and one she couldn’t escape, it seemed no matter how hard they tried to.  

The old doubts and worries were always just beneath the surface just waiting to spring forth to bugger things up. The present being a prime example.  

The morning had started out completely different and felt almost like a dream to where they were now.   Warm and lazy with a vague like quality one found just upon waking.   

Kayo had been snuggled in his arms. Her legs tangled with his among the rumpled sheets. A sweet ocean breeze blowing through the gossamer curtains and dancing pleasantly over their satiated bodies.  Wicking the dew of sweat from their skin as their pulses slowed and their minds drifted back from the bliss of carnal sensation. 

His fingers had been lazily tracing up and down her back, over the sinewy grace of her shoulders and down the curve of her spine. Paying homage and mapping every glorious inch to his artist brain. 

He’d been lost in a day dream of what could be. The gentle rise of her hip, the varied valleys of her ribs  directing the course of his thoughts.  A picture was forming of a future, one that stretched out before them like a blank canvas, waiting for them to take up the brush and fill it with colour and life. 

A story in images had started to sketch itself  in his mind’s eye.  The two of them, together.  Healing, growing and evolving with a world of opportunity before them and nothing to hold them back. 

Not being able to contain himself as he lazed with her, Virgil had voiced his thoughts. Letting loose all that he’d hoped for.   A tumble of words spewing forth that had Kayo suddenly growing still and stiff to his touch. 

“Virgil,  stop…”  Had been all she’d uttered before she’d turned from his embrace and slipped from the soft comfort of their bed.  Her hair a tumble of love tousled ebony, hiding her face. 

“It would be a nice picture to paint.”  He’d replied, mind still on other things and not on the present.   “Go anywhere, wherever we want.  Take in the sights for a change instead of just jetting by them.  Go to that little cabin by that lake I told you about… it would be a perfect spot to..”

“Enough! …” The abruptness of her raised voice had him snapping his jaw shut.  

With jerking motions, she’d grabbed up his shirt.  The match to his favourite pair of lounge pants.   The one she loved to cozy into and entice him with. A glimpse of flesh here as it rode up her thighs, a flash there as supple mounds peaked out between the row of loosed buttons. Now though it covered her in a different manner entirely.  Like a shield, she clasped it tightly 

He’d pushed up to his elbows, brows dropped low with concern as he’d finally taken note that something wasn’t quite right..  “Kay?"  

She’d cast her gaze back at him then.  The briefest of looks had been enough for him to catch the shadow of disquiet in them.  Their usual vibrancy muddied by brewing clouds of anger that had him sliding from the sheets and reaching for her. 

“Don’t.” Was all she said, shaking her head as he’d risen and moved towards her.  Her hands held aloft to hold him back as she’d strode from the room.  

“What… Tin,  what’s going on?”  

Grabbing up his pants Virgil had stumbled after her, hopping as he yanked them on amid a  litany of colourful words. 

“Shit… Wait..”  

Steps later he was confronted by a fury he hadn’t expected considering where and what they had been doing mere moments before.  

She had been pacing like a caged animal,  across the expanse of the living room and back again.  Rage flowing from her with each hurried step. 

“What…?”  Was all he managed to say before she turned on him.  Fire in her gaze,  colour high on her cheeks.  

“You know what?”  She seethed, poking a finger in his direction as she did another circuit of the room.

He’s own anger bubbled to the surface,  “Actually, I don’t. So would you enlighten me to whatever erroneous infraction it is that you think that I’ve done?”  

“Oh, don’t give me that.  You know exactly what the problem is.”

Virgil’s brows shot up as her words had struck a chord in his grey matter. “Problem? You really think…”

“What in the hell were we thinking?!”  She growled out, shoving a chair out to the way and knocking it over with a crash. “Selfish..Stupid.”

“With the lives we lead….You can’t ask this of me!”   

Her words had been like a physical blow and Virgil had taken an involuntary step back. She’d wanted her words to hurt and she’d succeeded.  She never did pull her punches and her aim was as impeccable as ever.

He’d seen the realization of what she’d said flicker through her gaze but she’d quickly buried it. Instead of saying more, she shook her head, turned  her back on him once more and walked out the open sliding doors putting more than just distance between them. 

And he’d let her go,  his shoulders slumping at the writing between the lines of what had been said. In his mind there was only one option open to them but maybe for her that wasn’t the case. The implications of those options was something he couldn’t dare to fathom…but it was a road he wouldn’t let her travel down alone.  

He had a responsibility to uphold,  as  her husband and as the man he prided himself on being.  A rescuer in dark times, when there was no one else capable of the job and sometimes those that needed rescuing were closer to home.

Squaring his shoulders he went after her.  She was begging for a fight. An obvious distraction from the core reasoning behind her lashing out at him but he wouldn’t take her up on the invitation.   He wouldn’t let her push him away to deal with whatever this was on her own. 

Passing through the doors,  his eyes scanned over the deck and his breath had caught.   

She looked so small, fragile and it had brought him up short. Slumping,  he braced himself between a support post and the beach house wall.  An uncanny exhaustion suffusing him as he saw the uphill battle of the task ahead.  A task he was determined to see through to the end, no matter the outcome. 

He hated seeing her like this and despite her best efforts to push him away, Virgil knew her too well.  Had spent most of his life knowing her.  He could read her nuances, gestures and mood even when she tried to close off from him like she was trying to do now under a mask of anger.  

“Tin,”  He said carefully, dropping his hand and pushing away from the post.  He drew in a breath and let it out slowly, letting the tension slip from his shoulders.   Approaching her with all guns blazing would only crank her defenses up higher and wouldn’t get them anywhere.

He watched her stance with a practiced eye as he stepped closer.  She was like an abused animal.  Even with all of her training, when she was emotionally compromised as she was right now the scared little girl she had been came to the fore.  The one they met when she’d first came to live with them, hiding behind her father’s leg.   

He hadn’t known her history then,  the actions of her uncle and the effect that it would have on the rest of her life.  How it would shape her into the strong, determined woman she was today.  Never letting anyone get close enough to see the frightened child she closeted away inside.  Virgil though had managed to find his way inside,  found the cracks in her apparent impenetrable armour and had broken through to  the core of the woman inside.  The one she tried desperately to hide from the world in a shell of fierce resolve and purpose.  

Under it all was a woman, who had seen too much.  Abused, battered, basically orphaned by her absentee father and desperately afraid.  To top it all off, she hated the weakness and fought tooth and nail to hide it from everyone.  With the exception of him,  she didn’t have a choice there. He’d wormed his way in and he wouldn’t stand by and let her retreat from herself or from him.  

Gently he placed his hands on her tight shoulders,  cupping their slender, wavering strength and he whispered her name again.  “Tanusha…”  

Her head bowed further,  a meager attempt to hide in the fall of her hair but he could feel the quiver in her body now,  hear the soft stuttered intake of her breath.  She was crying and trying oh so hard not to be. 

Pain and love swelled through his chest, and an undeniable protectiveness.  

Virgil pulled her back into his embrace, encircling his arms around her waist and with little resistance she melted.  

“I’m sorry,”  He whispered over the curve of her ear,  brushing his lips across the elven-like arch of it.  “I’m so sorry.”  

He put all his love he could into the words, hoping that by apologizing for something he wasn’t wholly the cause of would help alleviate her suffering in some way. 

“I wasn’t thinking and it was insensitive of me.”  He tightened his hold on her,  reassurance imbued into the gesture and slowly began to rock giving her the time to pull herself back together again. 

The slight tremor slowly dissipated,  her breathing settling into a somewhat normal rhythm and he knew that she was ready to hear. More so when she dragged in a ragged breath and exhaled a long drawn out sigh. He could almost hear her counting to ten in her head.  A method she used to reign back in some of her control and a calm he knew well creeped back in. One that camouflaged a great deal of hurt. 

He did the same,  his warm breath stirring her hair and ghosting across the smooth column of her neck which peeked out from the drooping collar of his shirt.   

“You know we’ve got this, right?”  He questioned though he wasn’t expecting an answer.  “Yes,  he’s out…”  She stilled once more in his hold but Virgil couldn’t stop now,  Kayo needed to hear this even if it was just a band-aid to the problem.   He couldn’t sit by and let her lose herself in fear so he pushed on. There was too much at stake.

“Yes,  he’s upped his game in a big way.  Dad knew he was capable,  your Dad knew….” A flinch at the mention of the absentee man but again he pressed on.  There was no backing down now.  What he had to say, needed to be said.  

“We were unprepared but we know better now and I promise you, Tanusha Kyrano Tracy;  just like I did on the day you said ‘Yes’.. That I will never,  ever let that man hurt you again.”  

He slipped a hand down,  between the soft folds of flannel,  across her silky, soft skin that concealed honed muscle and deadly skills. Brushed the edge of fine lace and stilled, cupped and shielded that which was only known to the two of them.  

With strength of purpose his chest swelled,  a determination unlike any he had ever known bulked up the threat behind his next words.  “I’ll do everything in my power to protect both of you, I swear it or the Hood will regret the day he heard the name Tracy.”

She turned, taking his hand in her own and lightly brushing her lips across his knuckles. “You’re too good for me Virgil Grissom Tracy and I don’t deserve you.”  

The brief storm of anger has fled from her eyes, leaving behind only doubt and fear.  “But I don’t think it’s as easy as that. You’re too good a man to stoop to such levels and I don’t think I could live with myself if you made that sort of sacrifice on my behalf. 

Besides,  what sort of life could we offer with him out there.   He’s already been the cause of so much pain.  You and your brother’s have suffered for years because of it..I don’t think I would have the strength if he was to get you or….” 

Virgil’s frowned.  “Tin,  I married you.  All of you and everything you brought with you. I knew full well what I was marrying into but that man,  that bastard… he can’t come between us and what we want unless you let him.”  

Her gaze dropped and with gentle fingers he lifted her chin and waited for her to meet his pleading eyes.  “Don’t let him win… not in this. Please God, not in this.”  

“We may not have a choice…” Came the whisper of her response, her forehead resting against his own as a lingering tear slipped from her lashes. 

“Tin, please….”

“Virgil, I love you.  God, how I love you but I can’t tell you what you want to hear.  Not right now. If the Hood found out…. 

Just then the island klaxon blared  and Virgil’s comms started to ping with urgency.

Kayo took a step back from him and he stared after her. Brain going a mile a minute with words he wanted to say,  emotions he wanted to express.   

“Go…” She said with resignation, her arms once more crossing over her frame.   “You’re needed..” 

“I’m needed more here.”  

His comms buzzed again followed by the voice of his star loving sibling. “Virgil, you’re needed in Ops. A.S.A.P.  Please confirm.””  

Conflicted, Virgil stood unmoving,  his fist clenched at his side.   Trapped between the woman he loved and the life they’d chosen.  

“Go,  I’ll be here when you get back..”   

His brother’s voice sounded again from his comms, pulling him in two directions at once.  The hint of stress he picks up in it though had him unfreezing and heading for the underground access to the hanger.  

Passing through the automated door and hitting his comms to reply to John, he looked back at Kayo.  His heart sinking and doubt filling him as he watched her turn away from him.  

Uncertainty prickling across his skin as he questioned the validity of her words but there was nothing he could do right now.   Lives were at stack…more so than just those that needed rescuing and his hands were tied… 

“FAB John,  on my way…”

FIN….????

[kiruuuuu]

More BB/Goyo in which Goyo is slowly going mad. On several accounts. (Rating E, fluff/humour/resolved sexual tension + smut, ~5.2k words) - written for @kiruuuuu​ seeing as she continued obsessing about these two after this piece.

.

Blackbeard is slowly but surely driving him insane.

One big part is the physical aspect, Goyo isn’t denying it – and if it were only that, he’d be as far from complaining as he could be. If his biggest problem was Blackbeard's attractiveness, he’d live in an almost ideal world with most of his dreams coming true, but as it is, the deep-seated desire burning low and slow in his groin merely ensures Goyo doesn’t forcibly eject Blackbeard from his life again due to all the other reasons the American is personally raising Goyo’s blood pressure. He should’ve expected this outcome and largely did, yet imagining having to combat vague incompatibilities while cruising high on happiness hormones which are released in laughable quantities every time he receives a friendly text over the holidays was somehow decidedly easier to stomach than dealing with actual issues face-to-face.

Goyo knows himself, as does Amaru, which is why he doesn’t disagree with her suggestion of meeting in public the first few times. He’s always been weakest right at the beginning of a fancy, daydreaming of scenarios that leave him short of breath and having to adjust his trousers, hoping they don’t betray him if he happens to be in a public space. Despite knowing better, he’s dived head first into physical relationships and paid the price for it, and after having slept with a married man once (without his knowledge, though the blame of hastiness lay upon him regardless), he vowed to improve. Besides, he suspects Blackbeard hasn’t dated a lot of men, so he should take it slow anyway.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t prepared for the change in wardrobe following a throwaway comment about camouflage patterns because not only did Blackbeard take him seriously and dressed differently for their dates from then on (which is a turn on already), his shirts are also very tight. Not unacceptably so, but entirely too tight for someone with pecs this pronounced. In moments when it was hard to deal with Blackbeard's personality, Goyo reminded himself as to why he was still around by eyeing up Blackbeard's chest and Christ. He would love to grope him for hours. Maybe suckle on those puppies. God.

It doesn’t help that he’s changed his aftershave as well. Goyo felt genuinely bad complaining about so much right away, even if it was done through careful euphemisms and half-jokes he practised beforehand, and promised himself to compliment Blackbeard elaborately should he act on it – but never did he expect for Blackbeard to dip into the nearest shop with him to try and find a fragrance Goyo liked. He claimed he was tired of his old one but hadn’t found an excuse to switch so far, and offered his own opinions additionally to Goyo’s, meaning the entire thing felt organic and constructive instead of passive-aggressive or, worse, blindly compliant. As a result, Goyo stands that tiny bit closer whenever he can. Prolongs their hugs. Inhales consciously whenever they kiss. He loves a good-smelling man, and Blackbeard has turned from handsome to painfully sexy.

He makes sure Blackbeard knows, too. He might be picky and demanding, but he would like to think of himself as appreciative, so whenever he notices the American looking or smelling exceptionally good, he remarks on it. And the delighted expressions he reaps are worth feeding this inflated ego. He doesn’t think the other man has been complimented on his appearance much, certainly not by fellow guys.

.

The very first thing they fight about is punctuality. As inevitable as death. It turns into a recurring theme as they simply can’t agree on anything and Goyo’s laid-back attitude towards time sparks nothing but disbelief in Blackbeard – he does learn by setting their meeting half an hour before he actually arrives, but whenever he’s meant to pick Goyo up by car, he shows up on the dot and paces impatiently around the flat without taking his shoes off while Goyo finishes whichever task held him up. Blackbeard calls him rude, Goyo waves him off, and the whole drama repeats the next time. They even have a long talk about it, with Goyo stressing the importance of enjoying life at one’s own personal pace, and Blackbeard calling on politeness and prioritising others over tasks such as washing the dishes.

Related to this, Blackbeard always requires an exact plan while Goyo prefers adapting vague ideas to actual circumstances. There’s no spontaneity in most of Blackbeard's actions, he’s rigid and inflexible and it drives Goyo absolutely nuts. After having agreed on watching a film that night, they walk past a fantastic-looking restaurant Goyo instantly wants to try out, and Blackbeard flat out refuses. Just says no. Claims their original plan was superior simply because it was made earlier, and when Goyo points out that literally nothing is stopping them from having dinner together instead of sitting at the cinema for a few hours, Blackbeard is having none of it. He’s hungry, he agrees with Goyo’s assessment that the place looks inviting, and yet he won’t budge. How did he get to where he is now with this attitude?

Also, Blackbeard is loud. And by this, he’s not even referring to his deafening voice – he’s a pitchman manqué – but rather his behaviour as a whole. Nigh everyone can tell his country of origin due to him constantly approaching perfect strangers, which Goyo finds exceedingly rude. People just want to mind their own business, as does he, and he wouldn’t appreciate being accosted by some random dude on the street. Blackbeard has the gall to call him rude as a result and defends himself by pointing out he leaves the grumpy ones alone and has a lovely chat with the rest who seems to enjoy their talk. Blackbeard has no qualms cursing in public and calling out unacceptable behaviour, and Goyo preferred the ground to swallow him whenever his companion starts an argument with a line skipper or someone parking like an idiot.

What, am I supposed to just tut and walk away?, Blackbeard scoffs, his tone making clear what he thinks of the British nation as a whole.

There are countless other details: Blackbeard's apartment is messy. He can’t cook for the life of him, yet is an utter baking snob. He leaves the toilet seat up. He loves the worst kind of cheesy patriotic action films and accepts no criticism on this. The music in his car leaves Goyo’s ears ringing for the rest of the evening. He seems to think kissing is the only worthwhile public display of affection. He’s ignorant about most other cultures yet fancies himself open-minded because his best friend is Korean – this only means he compares anything and everything either to the States or Korea. Getting him to eat anything he hasn’t tried before is an uphill struggle. Except if it’s Korean.

Vigil seems to get a pass on nearly everything, and Goyo is beginning to think Blackbeard either had or still has a crush on the man. He’s empathetic and understanding as can be with Vigil, and almost seems to enjoy arguing with Goyo. It’s getting old fast.

.

And then there are those other moments. The ones so sharp and vivid they linger in Goyo’s mind long after the fact, bright and warm like a sip of good alcohol, and almost as intoxicating too. They end up eating in the restaurant after all, and Goyo is mentally preparing for the backlash if it turns out to be rubbish – not that he thinks it will be, but he’d rather outline his defence already. In the back of his mind, he’s wondering whether he’s the stubborn one in this case, with his insistence to get his way showcasing his own inflexibility. His mother taught him to be kind whenever he can afford it, yet past experiences and an underlying pessimism usually convince him he can’t. He knows she’d be disappointed with how often he chooses the less compassionate path.

“I’m not good at this”, Blackbeard announces out of the blue, throwing Goyo off once more. This happens regularly, him spiralling and conducting a whole other conversation in his mind, and Blackbeard interrupting his thoughts with something outlandish. Most of the time, Goyo is relieved about it. He tends to get lost and is glad whenever he’s brought back to the present.

Since there’s no indication as to what he means, Goyo needs him to clarify. “At what?”

“Just… this.” And Blackbeard gestures somewhere between them. “Compromising. Letting someone else into my life. Listening.”

I know someone else who’s terrible at all three of those, Goyo thinks and doesn’t say.

“But I like you. And I want to get better. So please be patient with me and talk to me. Okay?”

Blackbeard likes him.

Idiotically, hearing it out loud makes him giddy as if this was a new revelation, but then his brain latches on to the much more important implication of Blackbeard wanting to communicate, being willing to work on himself and on the both of them, admitting faults. It’s a beacon of hope and one he didn’t expect – Blackbeard has never struck him as particularly introspective, not with how he values arbitrary rules above creative thinking, yet it seems he underestimated him. He’ll have to correct his mental image and allow Blackbeard to improve.

“Yes. That sounds good”, he replies after mulling over Blackbeard's words for a bit, prompting a sigh of relief. And, to throw him a bone: “You’re doing good.”

A scoff. “Am I though?”

“You are. Why else would I say it?”

“I don’t know. You just…” Blackbeard lowers his gaze, searching for the right thing to say. “I’m nervous around you.”

Goyo laughs. Can’t help it, he bursts out with a brief laugh turning into a hearty chuckle because – Blackbeard gets nervous? He dreaded being in the same room as the American early on and never managed to settle down in his presence, and now he’s learning it was reciprocal? Had he known he could’ve scared him away, he might’ve confronted Blackbeard earlier, returned the sass, threw his weight around a little. Instead, they were watching each other like hawks for ultimately only marginally different reasons. Nothing about Blackbeard is adorable, but this is the closest thing to it: him being bashful, admitting his crush, relinquishing power and inviting himself to be mocked. Goyo is delighted.

“You don’t need to be”, he reassures and runs his fingertips over the back of Blackbeard's hand, a gentle gesture he seems to appreciate.

There are these moments which remind Goyo why he gave Blackbeard a chance in the first place, and they are what keep him going whenever Blackbeard starts arguing in favour of one of his ‘life principles’.

.

“I made a mistake”, Goyo states, not bothering to hide his fatalistic tone of voice.

Amaru is instantly entertained. Her optimistic and easygoing attitude is part of the reason why she got along so swimmingly with Goyo’s mother, and also why he’s endlessly grateful for her presence in his life: she helped him get past failures whenever his mum wasn’t available, and provided encouragement and support whenever he needed it. It’s also why he keeps bothering her with his problems. “Does it have anything to do with your new relationship?”

She watched from a distance as he made his first few questionable choices in his dating career, ready to pick him up and dust him off whenever he’d fallen down. He learned to accept and value her advice once he realised she was never wrong, so he’s hoping she can assist him with his current predicament. “How did you guess?”, he sighs, not requiring an answer. “They’re showing a documentary I’m interested in on TV this evening, and I mentioned it to Craig.”

“So now he wants to watch it with you?”, his aunt surmises, making him nod. “Which means you’d have to spend the evening with him without falling victim to his manly wiles.” He nods again, looking pained. “And you want me to give you the go-ahead for making up an excuse so you don’t have a bad conscience when you cancel on him.”

Well. Maybe she was the wrong person to approach about this. “When you put it like that, it sounds… bad.”

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Don Goyo, you’re old enough to not need my approval. Which you’re not going to get anyway, before you ask.”

“I have a feeling I know what you’re about to say to me.”

“Just tell him. If you’re not ready, he needs to know. He deserves to know, César.”

It’s not that he isn’t ready. If it was for him, they’d have fucked in the nearest public stall on their second date, he’s been dreaming about strong arms and an insistent tongue for almost the entire month that they’ve been dating. He’s overripe, and still – it doesn’t feel right somehow. Like he should wait a little longer. They’ve gotten to know each other much better, anticipating each other’s moods, making small gifts here and there and texting daily. Even so, there’s just something.

“Don’t brood. Go and talk to him. Either he respects your boundaries and everything’s good, or he refuses and you can launch him into outer space. No matter the outcome, you’ll be off better than before.”

She must sense his hesitation as she tries to instil her wisdom a few more times before giving up and wishing him a pleasant night. He leaves, conflicted – he doesn’t want to hurt Blackbeard's feelings by rejecting him before even anything happens, and at the same time he’s not comfortable actually reaching below the belt yet.

He’s hoping Blackbeard simply doesn’t try anything. It’s the best case scenario.

.

About eight hours later, all Goyo can think between different versions of God this feels so fucking good is: this didn’t go to plan at all. Blackbeard is buried up to the hilt and Goyo is grateful for being momentarily distracted so he has an excuse not to think critically about what’s happening right then.

And it started out so well.

Goyo arrives only fifteen minutes late, which he thinks is more than reasonable even if Blackbeard doesn’t comment on it, and takes note of the slightly less messy flat – it’s not even that bad normally, some dirty dishes scattered around and pieces of clothing, but at least they give the otherwise relatively barren apartment some character. They kiss as a greeting, briefly, as Blackbeard is busy heating up something to eat, and then sit on the couch with plates on their laps, chatting about their day while waiting for the program to start.

It’s domestic. It should be relaxing and pleasant, not nerve-wracking, but after sitting next to Blackbeard for ten minutes of serious introduction and noticing how his sweatpants don’t really do a good job at hiding anything, Goyo knows he won’t do anything to stop him should he make a move. In a way, it’d be a relief: get it over and done with, don’t dwell on it, move on. The anticipation is putting him on edge, keeps his hairs standing up and his breaths measured. He’s hyper-aware of his knee brushing against Blackbeard's, the broad chest next to him rising and falling, the thumping of his own heart.

He can’t concentrate. Images flash on the screen, a soothing narrator recounts past horrors in a deep voice and historical photographs take turns. He’d actually been looking forward to watching this programme, and should’ve known doing it together with Blackbeard would end in disaster, yet wasn’t prepared for himself being the culprit. Blackbeard has beautiful arms, oozing latent strength and tanned nicely, the dark hairs making them even more appealing. Maybe he doesn’t shave his chest. He probably doesn’t, would consider it unmanly, and with how lush and full his beard is -

“Can I get you a beer?”

Goyo blinks. It’s a commercial break, he hadn’t even noticed. “No”, he says, and thinks: and I’d rather you didn’t have one either. The taste of it is revolting to him.

“I’ll just get one for myself then”, Blackbeard replies, already risen from the sofa, and makes the mistake of leaning down for a quick, once again domestic kiss. It’s reciprocated just a tad too enthusiastically, so Blackbeard pushes back and after a few more seconds they’re tongue wrestling with an uncomfortable height difference between them. The angle is awkward but the feel of it amazing – and this is something Goyo has openly admitted numerous times: he loves the way Blackbeard kisses. Adores it. Can’t get enough of it. It’s intense and deep and wet and leaves him panting every time, with this being no exception.

He drags the other man in, forcing him to steady himself with one knee on the couch, one knee right between Goyo’s legs and both hands cupping his face. This, too, is shockingly sexy, the way Blackbeard keeps him in place to take him apart. Goyo reaches out and runs his fingers over Blackbeard's body and dear God his thighs are like stone, and his back muscles pronounced, and his abs too. He’s tilted far back now, the bear hovering over him, solid and threatening and like a rock set in motion. Soul-crushing. Inevitable.

They kiss until the break is over, until at least one of them is making these embarrassing little noises, until Goyo’s lips feel swollen and his cock is harder than it’s ever been in his life, until Blackbeard breaks off, flushed, sweating and dishevelled, and Goyo wants to suck his dick or he’ll die. Making out has always been Goyo’s weakspot, and making out like this is guaranteed to leave him weeping and ruining his underwear, and he knew Blackbeard was gonna try something. He just knew. They wouldn’t have snogged like this without purpose, without an ulterior motive, without the intention of moving on to more sinful things now.

“We should”, Blackbeard starts and has trouble focusing his gaze, “let’s – I mean -” His sweatpants really don’t let him get away with anything. Unbelievably, he disengages and plops down next to Goyo. Apparently he wants to keep watching, which is the sensible thing to do.

Yes. A good idea. Getting caught up in the moment isn’t what Goyo wants anyway.

Blackbeard is radiating heat. His confident persona has crumbled, revealing a passionate yet considerate lover, a man torn between doing the right thing and doing what feels right. Right now, his upper brain seems to be winning, or maybe he figures if he behaves, Goyo will reward him regardless, or he’s hoping Goyo will stay the night and they can fuck later, or he’s playing hard-to-get. The last option would be hilarious, since Goyo isn’t interested in buying what Blackbeard is selling for now. They should really go back to watching TV, and when it’s over, they can talk a little, and then Goyo’s going home.

Two minutes later, he’s straddling Blackbeard's lap while shoving his tongue so far down the other man’s throat it’s a miracle he’s not choking, and nearly coming in his own pants from the bit of friction he manages to get between his dick and Blackbeard's taut stomach. He’s a fucking magnet and an oven with how hot he is, mewling into the kiss like someone who’s desperate for any kind of attention, like a starving or drowning or poisoned man, like – like Goyo. His beard is soft and smells good, and when Goyo’s hands stray below fabric, he finds more hair on a broad chest and buries his fingers in it. The rugged edge Blackbeard visibly sports continues where the normal gaze doesn’t penetrate, Goyo is relieved to discover, and he can finally feel up these gorgeous tits. Get his hands on them and massage them however he likes.

His nipples are delightfully sensitive and Goyo spends too much time teasing them while sucking deep purple bruises just below Blackbeard's collar until he’s worried about Blackbeard exploding under his merciless ministrations. Frotting has been knocked down in priority now that he can twist strangled moans out of the hard body beneath him, but when his cock throbs almost painfully at a gasp, he knows they can’t go on like this.

“Please give me a moment”, Blackbeard gasps out, cheeks rosy and eyes unfocused.

Again, a reasonable request. He should listen.

“Bedroom”, he snaps and it’s not even a suggestion. He can feel his hole pulsing with the irresistible desire of getting plowed and when Blackbeard, after a second of disbelief, picks him up to carry him through the flat, Goyo is thankful for his foresight to bring condoms and lube regardless of his intentions. He had a hunch Blackbeard would try something.

They only shed what’s necessary (and the shapely legs are somehow only improved with socks on, but Goyo has been told before that it’s a sock fetish at this point) and preparation is an unceremonious affair except for the fact that Goyo sucks on Blackbeard's nipples until they’re raw and too sensitive while fingering himself open. The American has a great body, he has to admit, well-developed muscles, some scars here and there, coarse black hair adorning tanned skin and an upward curved cock beautiful enough to have Goyo’s mouth water, so sitting down on it feels predictably mind-blowing.

He does most of the work, which is fortunate as he can experiment with angles until he’s found one that actually makes him go cross-eyed, and once Blackbeard draws the connection between his blissful groans and whatever’s happening between their legs, he starts thrusting up and dear Lord.

This isn’t what Goyo had in mind when coming over, and yet he can’t find the brain capacity to regret or even care right now, not with how urgent his lust is tugging on his nerve endings, forcing him to ride towards exhaustion and cramps and an impressive muscle hangover the next day. Being able to steady himself on Blackbeard's torso is surprisingly sexy and the sheer barrage of pleasure bursting through him every time he slams down his hips keeps him from touching himself, effectively prolonging his sweet suffering.

Moving in unison has never felt this good and for once, they’re on the same wavelength, exchanging devoted gazes and trading the odd kiss. It’s akin to a reunion instead of a first time, like they’ve rehearsed this song and dance to perfection in the past and, despite a certain rustiness, are quickly finding back into their old routine.

When Goyo comes, his vision goes colourful with how tight he’s squeezing his eyelids shut. He shakes violently while balanced on Blackbeard's hips and gasps for air, overwhelmed by the elation accompanying his release and shooting his sperm all over Blackbeard's mangled chest, over the lovebites and the red marks his hands left behind from carrying his weight. His relief is crushing, and so he slumps down bonelessly, allowing the other man to pump into him a few more times before announcing his own climax with a low moan. Instinctively, it seems, Blackbeard’s palms travel over the back of his sweaty t-shirt, petting him reassuringly.

Goyo doesn’t like it. It feels like too much, like overstimulation after a long, satisfying session even though his was hardly long but certainly satisfying. He shakes the hands off and climbs down, trying to catch his breath. Next to him, blue eyes snap to his face, too attentive. Blackbeard looks like he’s not sure what to say. Goyo could lighten the situation, compliment him, make a joke, or be sincere about how much he enjoyed himself. Because he did.

Even with the afterglow fading fast.

“I’ll go shower first”, he announces and leaves with a quick kiss that seems unsubstantial. He’s gone before Blackbeard has even taken the condom off, and the sensation of dirtiness clinging to his skin seems to go beyond bodily fluids. Scrubbing himself with the only loofah (and isn’t that a surprise) wouldn’t be right, so he uses his own fingers to wipe off the odd feeling.

Blackbeard is sitting on the edge of the bed when he returns, and now he can finally place the source of the awkwardness between them: he’s not babbling. Normally, he’d have commented on Goyo’s stamina, maybe how great his arse looked, recounted an anecdote of some sorts, or even attempted a lame joke, yet all he’s doing is watching. He looks a little lost. Silvery droplets are caught in his chest hair and when they kiss again, Goyo deflects a hug with the excuse of wanting to remain clean, demands that Blackbeard go shower as well.

The bed is large and tidier than the rest of the room, as if Blackbeard had anticipated them ending up here. Despite the general lack of colour in the apartment, the duvet is beautiful with a dark turquoise pattern. The cushions look fluffy, but not too soft. It looks inviting. Goyo did bring a spare pair of underwear, knowing their shoe and therefore sock size is the same, and he briefly pictures waking Blackbeard up by sucking him off. It’s unlikely to happen, with how different their morning routines are – what little he knows anyway – and still, the image is most tempting.

He gets caught in the hallway with one shoe on his foot already, the other in his hands.

His stomach drops and speech evades him out of shame as Blackbeard leans against the door frame, tight briefs highlighting all his best assets. Oddly enough, he doesn’t seem disappointed or hurt, which does nothing to quell the burning feeling of being a disgrace eating away at Goyo’s insides.

“What are you doing?”, he asks, no reproach in his voice. Patience is one of his virtues and one he displays right now – if there was ever a moment when Goyo expected an outburst, an indignant rant, it’d be now. Instead, he picks up on a hesitant disquiet, an uneasy curiosity. Blackbeard doesn’t know what’s going on, but he knows it’s important, therefore he treats it with the same mindfulness he does any serious issue.

Goyo owes him this. If there’s anything he owes this man, it’s an attempt at an explanation. Since he’s formulated it before, talked it through with past partners, he’s not unprepared yet dreads bringing it up nonetheless. “I have… commitment issues”, he replies softly.

The answering silence is one of racing thoughts, he can read it on Blackbeard's open expression. “Do you want to talk about it?”, he eventually wants to know. For a guy with no idea of how to deal with this, he’s faring remarkably well.

“I am talking about it.” Defensive. He inhales deeply before continuing. “I have trouble opening up to others. I prefer keeping most of me to myself. I can’t trust easily.”

A nod. It hurts; it means Blackbeard has noticed but didn’t dare bring it up. Always the same thing. Goyo fights down a pang of annoyance – part of his mind tries to convince him they don’t deserve him: either they mention it, which makes them whiny complainers not ready to give him time, or they don’t, which means they don’t care enough. It’s bullshit and pops up in the back of his head every time. “Am I suffocating you?”

He almost laughs at the ridiculousness of the notion. Blackbeard, who maybe suggests a quarter of their dates, who never complains about Goyo taking some time to reply to messages, who always accepts when Goyo wants to go home, seriously thinks he’s clingy. If anything, Goyo would like for him to be more overbearing, insert himself into Goyo’s life more aggressively. “No. You’re giving me all the space I need.” Too much, at times.

“Am I doing anything wrong?”

Well. What isn’t he doing wrong. Goyo’s heart melts a little over this brute trying to figure out why his lover is sneaking out on him, when it’s nothing but Goyo’s ugly side finally showing. He’s being unfair. “I didn’t want to sleep with you”, he says and knows instantly it was the worst possible thing he could’ve said, with how Blackbeard gains a look of horror, paling immediately, arms dropping by his side, slack, mouth working out an apology before the meaning has even reached his brain. Bad with words. This one he can’t really chalk up to bad timing. “No, that’s not what I meant. I wanted it and I liked it. I really did.” He’s flustered, flailing now, in unfamiliar territory, allowing the first thought to drop out of his mouth without scrutinising it first, and feels like it only gets worse. “But I – I had myself convinced I didn’t want it. Because, I don’t know. I’m -” Scared, he can’t bring himself to say. He knows it’d tear a wound which might not heal so easily. “Look. I’ll go. You don’t have to deal with this.”

No one should have to deal with him like this, sputtering and ashamed to the core, cheeks hot and composure non-existent. He wants to go home and hide for the next century and if Blackbeard told him now he’s not worth the trouble he’s causing, he wouldn’t even object.

“Don’t.” A plea. Heartfelt, for what it’s worth, but any other way and Goyo would already be putting on his second shoe. “I don’t know what to do, or what to say. I don’t know what you’d like me to do or say.”

Neither does Goyo. That’s the whole problem.

Blackbeard must be cold, nearly naked and standing in the faint draft coming in from under the door. He shifts his weight uncomfortably as they stare at each other. Please, Goyo thinks, unsure of what he even means by that. But when the next words hit his ears, he knows it’s what he’s been hoping for: “Just… come back to bed. Okay?”

The shoe hits the ground with a sharp sound cutting through the tense atmosphere between them.

.

Unsurprisingly, Blackbeard prefers being the big spoon. They fight over the blanket since Goyo needs it to sleep whereas Blackbeard insists it’s entirely too warm, and the familiar back-and-forth calms his racing heart. As does the gentle hand rubbing vague circles into his chest while they cuddle. After a few soothing moments, he asks the dreaded question of when Blackbeard's first alarm will go off, resulting in even more bickering.

“I really wanted to watch that documentary”, Goyo mumbles regretfully against the arm he’s cradling like a stuffed toy, partly because it’s wonderfully warm and partly because the skin-on-skin contact does funny things to his stomach. Being pressed against the length of Blackbeard's body is magical. He hasn’t felt this safe in a long while.

“Don’t worry, I recorded it.”

The reply, half lost in his hair, gives Goyo pause. If they could actually see anything in the impenetrable darkness Blackbeard requires to sleep peacefully, he’d turn around in indignation. “So you expected something like this to happen?”

He can feel the smile against his scalp. “Call it wishful thinking. Doing nothing but kissing did take its toll.”

Huh. Seems like he was right.

Blackbeard really did plan on trying something.

[cryoculus]

Lunaris [7/11]

!! HEADS UP !! Trigger warnings for graphic depictions of violence and blood imagery in this chapter are put up as well, albeit minimal.

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Chapter Title: Eclipse Pairing: Yokai!Akaashi Keiji/Reader Word Count: 3,263

***

Going on an hour's worth of a jog is a staple for quiet Sunday mornings like these. You stuck by routine religiously, despite that ground-breaking revelation the previous night because...well, you didn't have a reason to remain idle. So what if you're the perpetrator for stealing a yokai's heart? The moment you opened your eyes at the first breath of dawn, you were unknowingly filled with a newfound resolve.

You weren't going down without a fight. 

"Oba-san, I'll head off now!"

Your grandmother was in the middle of her morning prayers, so the lack of a response was understandable. But even when you were already descending the steps from the foyer, you could still feel her gaze following your retreating form. For a moment, you had half the mind to go back and tell her that you were okay. That everything's fine. That you definitely won't let some half-dead creature get the best of you because you didn't have the blood of the Amatsukis running in your veins for nothing.

Each breath came out deep and smooth. After years of running across fields and ovals, it's only normal that you've got your breathing under reins. The temperature wasn't too sweltering for your taste either, and the comfortable feel of the wind breezing past your shoulders only egged you on to pick up the pace. 

Descending the hill in these runs granted you a view of the sun climbing up the sky once you passed the roadside overlooking the city. The waking dawn was slightly obscured by a thicket of trees and overgrown vegetation, but the daylight managed to pierce through the leaves either way—bathing your skin in warmth of the sun. 

The only thought that managed to surface in your mind was, "It would suck if I died and didn't get to see this anymore, huh."

"(Surname)?" 

You stopped in your tracks the moment you spotted a familiar face climbing up the hill. Bokuto, who also seemed to be going on a run from the clothes he's wearing, gaped at you, surprised.

"Bokuto-san?" you breathed, trotting over to the ace. "What are you doing here?" 

He grinned back at you, and it's hard to miss the way the morning light made the gold of his eyes glimmer even brighter. "I was just headed up the shrine to offer some prayers," he said, but his initial cheeriness faltered for a moment—regressing into quaint embarrassment. "And, uh, I kind of wanted to check on you. After what happened last night, and all."

"Oh," was all that you could manage, remembering last minute that you ditched him without any sort of explanation. You coughed out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of your neck as you averted your gaze. "Ah, yeah. I'm really sorry for just leaving you like that. Did Sumi and Kazuto walk back home with you?"

Bokuto shook his head. "Nah, they were still watching the lunar dance. I had to go home by then, anyway, so it wasn't a big deal."

So he didn't know about your little delirious episode at the shrine. You felt the unease that you didn't know had been crawling beneath your skin dissipate, even a little. The last thing you'd want is to explain something so outlandish to Bokuto, of all people. From his reply, it seemed that Itsumi and Kazuto could have witnessed that, but were thankfully yet to corner you about it.

"Anyways, since you're here, do you want to grab some breakfast downhill?" he offered, a kind smile playing at his lips. 

You thought that, had you spent the previous evening like any normal high school girl dreamed—watching the fireworks side-by-side with the boy she likes—maybe you would have agreed. Maybe, if it was your own heart, and not a yokai's, that was keeping you alive right now, you could have indulged yourself in Bokuto's not-so-subtle advances. But that wasn't the case at all. These were the circumstances you had to live with. 

And you were going to see them through until the end.

"I'm sorry, Bokuto-san," you sighed, training your eyes back on the sunrise. "I'd...rather be alone right now."

Before he could even utter out any response, you were already running into a sprint, taking one of the off-road pathways where he couldn't follow you. Having spent your childhood aimlessly wandering the hill—committing each of the paths that ran like veins across the rich forests around you—you knew perfectly well how to hide in a way where no one could find you. 

Leaves crinkled under the weight of your running shoes as you slowed your strides, eyes fluttering shut as you let the glorious birdsong ring in your ears. But your moment of tranquility was interrupted by the steady beeps coming from your watch. With a sigh, you cast it an uninterested glance, seeing that your first twenty minutes were up and you haven't even burned half your required calories.

You let yourself lean on one of the tall trees in the area, chuckling breathlessly.

"Tonight for sure."

  Undoubtedly, Akaashi had been right when he said the moon shines brightest in the cemetery uphill. 

With each step you took as you ascended your usual path, it was as if Tsukuyomi favored only this patch of land across the country and nowhere else. But even though the moonlight spilled across the hill like it typically did, it was like its residents were in hiding. You didn't hear any small animals scuttling about. The cicadas seemed to have hibernated early for the night. And even your grandmother retired to her bedroom before the clock even struck at 8 P.M.

"Don't go outside," she had warned with a reproachful kind of sternness. "Remember what I told you."

But you wouldn't be able to move forth with your plans if you merely cooped yourself up in your bedroom. So, when you were sure she was already fast asleep, you grabbed one of her old oil lamps from the storage room, lighting the wick with a single match before you began your trek uphill. 

The gate to the cemetery was gaping wide when you reached the summit, and you let out a stuttering breath to somehow ease yourself. The small bottle containing the blessed water from the shrine's well felt heavy in the pocket of your sweats as you darted your gaze around for any sign of him. When you were met with nothing but the whisper of the stale wind, you gazed up at the sky—the moon overhead slowly, slowly being swallowed by the shadow of the sun. 

Your fingers coiled tighter around the lamp, forcing yourself into hyper-awareness. If Akaashi's identity as the lunar goddess' offspring was anything to go by, you were almost too certain that the occurrence of an eclipse will affect him somehow. Whether it will strengthen him or weaken him, you didn't know. But what you did know was that, if you were going to face him, it had to be tonight.

"Your penchant for making questionable decisions was entertaining at first, but this is just suicide, don't you think?"

Then and there, the charm that's kept you safe all these years glowed with its usual, telltale white. You grit your teeth when a whirlwind blew past, and you suddenly felt his hot breath fanning the nape of your neck. 

"Who said I had any plans to die?" you murmured, a challenge underlining your words as you faced him. 

Akaashi looked as infuriatingly normal as ever with his loose shirt, gym shorts, and volleyball shoes. The only thing that gave away his demonic heritage were his ruby red eyes and the sneer that gave you a flash of fanged teeth. 

"The fact that you came to me already seals your fate," he chuckled, animosity oozing from his words. "I am going to kill you."

But even if he could very much put a hand through your chest like he did in your dreams, you had an inkling that Akaashi wouldn't do it. Despite the menacing aura that enveloped him, your instincts were telling you that it was all for show. Was it his heart in your chest whispering all these little clues to you? Was that why, even though you definitely should have alerted the shrine of his presence, you couldn't bring yourself to do so?

"Are you sure about that?" you tested him, meeting his vermillion gaze head-on. "If you really wanted to kill me and take your heart back, wouldn't you have done it already?" 

"Who are you to question a yokai's timing, human?" he hissed, eyes shining with an anger you knew was staged. The words were curled around a growl, yet...you felt no fear. Just a wave of calm washing over you like how the moonlight swathed your form in its bright splendor. 

Shucking common sense out of the window, you stepped forward until you were directly in front of the yokai. His mask of hostility faltered for a split second, and that alone confirmed your suspicions. He didn't want to do this. Not at all.

And it's for that reason alone that you gathered the courage to take his still-human hand, placing his palm flat against your chest like an open invitation to murder you. Akaashi's gaze hardened. You could feel him straining against your grip, but you kept his hand in place, even if your charm glowed even harsher with the close contact.

"Can you feel that?" you murmured, casting a sidelong glance at your parents' gravestones just a distance away. "That's the heart that saved me when I was little. The heart that could've saved my mother's life, but instead she chose to give to me. Your heart." The tone of your voice nearly broke with the words, but you steeled yourself. You couldn't afford to lose face—not now. "You can take it back if you really want to. You have all the right to do so...but that's not what you wish, isn't it?"

For a moment, his form flitted between human and yokai, like he was keeping his control from slipping. Akaashi bared his fangs at you with a fearsome snarl, and at the same time, you noticed that the moon overhead had already been enveloped by the sun—painting its surface a bright red, much like the yokai's eyes. 

"Do not speak to me as if you know my pain!" he roared in a garbled voice before he lunged at you with breakneck speed, pinning you to the ground before you could even react. 

Pitch black darkness enveloped the cemetery, and the only source of light came from the oil lamp that was haphazardly knocked out of your grasp and the warding charm on your wrist. The fear that you should have felt the moment you practically offered yourself up to him was beginning to catch up. His hands, with talons now protruding from them, wrung around your throat, cutting off circulation with a single squeeze. You desperately gasped for air, blunt fingernails clawing at his hands, but to no avail. 

"I did not kill you on-sight because I was biding my time for when I'm most powerful," Akaashi spat, tightening his grip that you nearly lost your vision for a moment. "But a human like you doesn't need any further explanations. You're nothing but—argh!"

In the midst of his little monologue, you managed to fish out the blessed water in your pocket. It was a miracle, really, that you had the foresight not to seal the cap too tightly. The minimal drops that got on his skin sizzled in your ears, and when you felt his grip falter, you kicked him with as much lower leg strength you could muster. 

Akaashi rolled onto the grass, writhing from the pain of having been struck with blessed water. The sight sent an arrow of remorse flying straight through your chest. He could've ripped your—his—heart out when he had the upper hand, but he didn't. 

"Why are you holding back?" you asked, backing away cautiously as you picked up the oil lamp. "You told me the moment you found who it was that had your heart, you would take it back. Were you lying?" 

Asking a yokai if he was lying was a little laughable, really. They were creatures of darkness, so lying was right up their alley. But Akaashi...Akaashi had always been different from the rest.

As you walked closer, you held the lamp in front of you—the bright orange glow of the flame illuminating the sight of Akaashi's bloodstained face. Crimson tears lined his long lashes where they pooled at the edges of his eyes and cascaded down his pale cheeks. The burn marks from the blessed water had already healed, but it seemed that the agony was yet to ease.

"I just want it to end," he croaked, voice sounding all kinds of broken. "I am neither alive nor dead. Without my heart I can never know peace." 

Your gaze softened, heart rippling with pity at the sight of him. "What do you mean?"

Akaashi heaved a long, exhausted breath, hauling himself up to his feet before doing his habit of looking up at the sky—at the moon. And for a moment, you liked to think that the expression that shadowed his face was but a glimpse of the age-long suffering you couldn't even begin to comprehend. 

"I was the first of my mother's children," he began, his words coming out much more even than earlier. "Keiji, she called me. The name I was given was meant for a leader that would keep all the children of the moon in check. I was supposed to be up in the heavens, ruling alongside her. But that wasn't what happened at all." 

"The first time I descended onto the Earth, it was to bless the first worshippers of the lunar deities with prosperity. But..." Akaashi faltered for a moment, intently affixing you with his red-eyed gaze. "It was a trick. Their entire offertory was a ploy to get me to reveal myself so they could subject me into their godless experiments."

His tale had you frowning for a moment. You weren't very certain, but it was like you've already heard this before...

"Every thing and every creature should always have a counterpart. That was the philosophy they lived with," the yokai reiterated as he flexed his talons before his eyes. "It was the same for the gods they so-religiously worshipped. In order to maintain the balance in the world—"

"There should be a force that opposed even the gods themselves," you continued for him, lips quivering with horror when you finally realized what was so glaringly familiar about his narrative. "That's...that's from the origin story of the first yokai. He was created by delusional worshippers..." There was a pause in your response, like you couldn't quite form the right words, before you forced yourself to look back at him. 

"You're the first yokai?" 

For the first time in a while, you saw Akaashi's mouth quirk into a tired smile. "I'm glad you're not making me regret sparing you."

You ran a hand through your hair in utter disbelief, your mind spouting out questions you weren't even sure you want to know the answers to. Not only was he Tsukuyomi's eldest son, he was also the first yokai cursed to wander the earth for all eternity. If you cross-referenced your grandmother's story with Akaashi's, it would add up why he would want the shrine's help in reaching out to his mother. 

He just wanted to go back to his home in the skies. 

"My grandmother told me about the yokai who infiltrated the shrine years ago, whose heart they sealed away," you spoke again, half-wondering if you were even in the position to demand even more answers. "Why do you need your heart to ascend to the heavens? It's the crux of those worshippers' utter blasphemy. Surely, you don't—"

"Gods do not have hearts, yes," Akaashi interrupted, pressing his mouth into a thin line. "But the object that keeps my existence anchored to reality is hidden within it—the essence of the moon. When I said I would take back my heart, that was what I meant, and obtaining it does not require me to kill you."

Not even your grandmother's strict lessons covered that little tidbit of information. You found yourself ghosting a hand over your chest, feeling the steady thrum of your pulse beating underneath your fingertips. Akaashi's eyes roved over your much shorter frame, and the relief in his eyes looked much more genuine than the wrath he had bluffed with earlier. 

"This world is cruel, (Name)," he sighed, and you realized that it was the first time he addressed you as such. "I cannot converse with my mother in this form, nor can she personally interfere with the affairs of the earthly realm. If I were to return, it would be of my own effort alone."

"It took me centuries to find her sacred land right here, and just before I could finally go back, my heart, my essence, was taken away—and I was made to suffer once again by the same people who swore to worship us." The somber ring in Akaashi's voice made your heart sink with regret. Regret for ever questioning him. Regret for the shrine's cruel actions against him. 

At the same time, the cemetery was beginning to brighten all around the two of you. Sparing a quick glance at the sky, you saw that the sun's shadow was already receding, letting the moonlight rain down where it shone brightest once more. 

"If you're going to go back," you told him, seizing his hand and, mimicking your previous actions, flattened his palm over your heart, "it's not going to be tonight."

He gave you a tired look, like he couldn't believe you were still being stubborn after everything he's told you. "And why is that?"

You breathed in deep, suddenly made aware of how cold his fingers were and how your charm no longer glowed alarmingly. But you couldn't give them another thought when you stared at Akaashi dead in his now-gunmetal blue eyes. 

"I'm going to prove to you that the world isn't always so cruel," you told him, conviction lacing your tone. "And I'm also going to show you that the life your heart has given me won't ever be put to waste."

Akaashi could only stare at you with his lips slightly parted in muted surprise. "You know you don't have to do this, right?"

"But I will," you insisted. "And you're going to let me do so anyway."

There was another lengthy pause in your conversation when you saw the desolation on his face morph into something lighter, more at ease. For a fleeting moment, you thought that he looked more human in those few moments than he had in the entire time he pretended to be so. 

"Perhaps, I do have a weak spot for someone as persistent as you," he relented, pinching the bridge of his nose with exasperation. "But I have only one request before you go through with this madness of yours."

You cocked your head to the side as he withdrew his hand from your grasp. "What is it?"

Akaashi pulled his lips into a lopsided smile, his cold, porcelain fingers reaching up to tuck a loose tuft of hair behind your ear. 

"Don't make me lose faith in the human race a third time, (Name)." 

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Twenty-Five | Pent Up ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Nohara Rin, Hatake Kakashi ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ Vulgarity, blood ]

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Why, why, why is it so hard to keep ahold of his temper…?!

So much more seems to grate at his patience than it used to when he was younger. Sounds, touches, even smells can start chipping at his mood, making him more and more agitated until something has to give. It’s like his brain has turned into a ticking time bomb, randomly exploding when just the right criteria are met.

Needless to say...it’s made most people wary of him. And now that he’s starting his senior year back in the district he once hailed from, he’s especially wary of being labeled dangerous, unstable, a freak.

He’s already embarrassed himself once. The pool party, barbeque, whatever that Rin invited him to ended in disaster when he had one of his seizures. Right in front of everyone...they all just stared in horror as he seized up, plunging into the pool.

But then the girl who lived there had dragged him up, spurring the rest of them into action. The damage, however, had already been done. By now he’s sure everyone already knows about it before he even steps foot into the high school this morning.

...he just has to stay calm.

Finding his locker, he ignores the dubious looks he gets, the whispers that seem to follow him. Even at the reformative school he’d been transferred to after his accident had seen him an odd one out, mostly due to his appearance...but his breakdowns and spasms hadn’t helped, either. By now it’s all just white noise, fiddling with the combination lock on his locker door.

“Hey!”

Half a second late, Obito realizes he recognizes that voice, if only vaguely. A turn shows the girl from yesterday...Ryū? Admittedly he remembers almost nothing about her - only that she used to tag along with Rin when they were younger, and how much harder that made getting the other girl alone.

...of course that doesn’t matter now. Rin’s with Kakashi, for...some reason.

He just blinks at her, watching her approach with her books clutched to her chest.

In turn, she offers a smile. “So, you made it. How are you feeling today?”

The question earns a reflexive tick of annoyance. He gets really sick of people asking him that, but...there’s a genuine concern in her expression most people tend to lack. Usually they’re more exasperated than actually worried. “...I’m fine. Stiff, but it’ll pass.”

“Ah, good...that must have been so scary…”

“I’m used to it. It’s been happening for five years.”

Further sympathy wilts her brows. “...that must be really tough.”

He doesn’t have an answer, simply grunting and opening the door once the lock gives way.

“Well...if you need anything, let me know! Maybe I’ll see you in some classes?”

“I doubt it. Most of mine are pretty low ones compared to a lot of seniors.” And surely she’s not at his held-back level. She seems pretty smart, from what he can tell.

There’s a small awkward pause. “Oh...well, maybe a club…? I’ve been in the theater club since I was a freshman. It’s a lot of fun! But there’s a lot of others too, if you’re looking for something to do.”

Ugh, clubs...aren’t classes bad enough? “I’ll think about it.”

She seems to realize he’s getting annoyed. “Well...okay! I’ll, um...I’ll see you later, Obito. Have a good morning!”

He watches her go. Is she really one of those people that’s constantly peppy and good-natured? Isn’t that...exhausting? Well, whatever. He better get to first period. Last thing he needs is to be late on the first day. People are going to have enough reason to give him crap.

Thankfully he doesn’t have any confrontations on the way there, taking a back row seat and folding arms atop his desk to rest his chin. He’s barely been here ten minutes and he’s already sick of it.

...but he told his grandmother he’d try. She’s so eager to see him graduate from a proper school. All Obito can think is that he hopes she lives that long. She’s not exactly a spring chicken anymore. Out of everyone in his life right now...she’s his rock. The one person he never gets angry with, never gets upset by. Sachiko feels like the only reason he’s been keeping it together.

Even his old friends have clearly changed. Rin, while still friendly, seems a bit more...conscious about talking to him. Especially when Kakashi’s around. And Kakashi’s still quick to butt heads with him over practically nothing. Like yesterday with Rin’s invite to the party. It would have pissed him off...if Rin hadn’t rolled over for him so easily.

...he can’t expect them to be the same, but...he’ll admit, he’s not a fan of these changes. He knows things can’t be the same, but...even Rin no longer feels like a friend.

...maybe this whole ‘coming back’ thing was a mistake.

Morning classes pass in a bit of a fog, Obito in no way motivated to pay much attention. He just wants to check off this day from what will surely be a very long list of days until the year ends. The sooner that gets here, the happier he’ll be.

Come lunch, he’s realizing he’s now going to have to confront a few things. One being the crowds, and the noise. Another being trying to find a seat

Cuz he knows no one’s going to want to sit by -

“Obito!”

Jolting a bit with his tray in hand, he spots Ryū waving at him from a table. Nearby, both Kakashi and Rin seem to hesitate.

That narrows his eyes...but he decides to sit anyway. If they’re going to treat him like a stranger, he’ll just do the same. He doesn’t need them. He doesn’t need anyone. They want to distance themselves from him? Fine.

Instead, he sits next to Ryū.

“How were your classes?”

“Boring. But about what I expected.” He pointedly avoids looking at the other pair, working on getting his food arranged on his tray. “You?”

“I already have homework in two classes, but...hopefully it won’t be too bad.” There’s a mild silence, Ryū seeming to notice the awkward air between the three former friends. “...what about you guys? Any hard classes this morning?”

“I had three AP classes but that’s usual,” Kakashi replies, also obviously ignoring Obito. “Schedule’s pretty full, but it’ll be fine. Need them for my college apps.”

Across from him, Obito scowls at the casual bragging.

“Rin?” Ryū gives a bit of a strained smile.

“Nothing too, uh...bad. Pretty typical. One homework assignment so far. Also not sure what club I want to join...I liked gardening club last year but apparently the damage to the greenhouse from that storm over the Summer means it’s cancelled for this semester at least.” Rin’s mouth falls into a disappointed frown. “So I dunno if I should wait, or...join something else in the meantime. Cuz depending on repairs and stuff, it might not happen at all.”

“Aww! That really sucks...you could join theater!”

At that, Rin gives a short laugh. “I...don’t think so. Not really the acting type, and...it’d be weird being there just one semester or one year. You guys are a pretty close-knit group, right?”

“Well, yeah. But we welcome new freshmen every year!”

“Mm...I’ll think about it.”

“What about you, Obito?” Ryū asks, turning to him. “Want to join any clubs?”

“Or you could play a sport!”

“Not sure a sport is a good idea with my condition,” Obito replies, making Rin balk.

“O-oh...right. Sorry…”

“Well, doing some kind of extracurricular activity is good for your educational resume,” Kakashi offers nonchalantly.

“Not sure my educational resume is really going to impress anybody, given the circumstances,” Obito retorts, looking annoyed.

“Doesn’t mean you should just give up.”

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

“Hey, guys, it’s fine,” Ryū cuts in, a placating hand rising. “Everybody does high school differently. APs or not, clubs or not, it’s whatever.”

“Yeah I only got into one AP this year,” Rin confirms with a nod before shooting Kakashi a look.

All the while, Obito tries to keep a hold on his temper. He can tell Kakashi is just trying to get a rise out of him. And while he already has pent up anger concerning the other boy, he doesn’t want to let it win.

So he instead focuses on deep, even breaths while the girls try to diffuse the situation. Now, if only it weren’t so loud in the cafeteria...it’s grating on his nerves.

“I’m gonna go get ready for class,” Kakashi eventually relents, standing and taking his half-empty tray with him.

“Kakashi -!” Looking a bit flabbergasted, Rin tries to call him back to no avail. “...I dunno what’s gotten into him today!”

“Just his typical asshole self,” Obito mutters. “Has to boss everyone else around, has to make himself look good when no one gives a shit.”

“I think he is worried about what you’re going to do after graduation,” Rin replies, looking a little nervous. “I mean...you’ve got an uphill battle ahead of you, given your...um...setbacks.”

Obito’s expression only sours, temper fraying further. “Well he doesn’t have to be such a shithead about it.”

“...it’s just...going to take some adjusting, y’know? Everyone...being back together. We’ve all changed, right?”

That does it. Appetite ruined, Obito stands without a word and dumps the rest of his food, tossing the tray into the wash pit.

Behind him, the girls both jolt in surprise. But only one gets up to follow him.

“Obito!”

He doesn’t stop, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets as Ryū jogs to catch up.

“Don’t listen to Kakashi, he’s just -?”

“Just a massive prick and a pain in my ass,” Obito growls. He can feel the embers of his temper starting to flicker with flame.

“I’m sorry...you didn’t have to sit with them. I just figured -?”

“It wasn’t your fault. You -” You’ve been nothing but nice to me. “...Kakashi’s picked fights with me since we were kids. And...I’ve picked fights back. We’re just not meant to be around each other that much. Don’t worry about it.”

Managing to come around to his front, Ryū cuts off his path, expression guilty. “...still. I...should have read the room.”

“I didn’t have to sit there. It was my choice.”

“...well...tomorrow we’ll sit somewhere else, okay? That way it won’t happen again.”

Sighing, he stares at her. “...why are you being so nice to me?”

The question seems to take her aback. “W...why wouldn’t I?”

“Cuz no one else seems to want to.”

“Well everyone else are just a bunch of jerks. I know this is awkward...for everybody. And maybe Rin’s right, maybe things have changed, but…” She sighs. “...you still deserve to be treated kindly, and given a chance to meld back into things here. So I’m, at least, going to try to help you do that.”

It’s his turn to exhale, far more curtly than her. “...just pisses me off. Rin invited me yesterday, and then let Kakashi walk all over her. She just...abandoned me when she was the only reason I showed up! Then today she lets him say all that shit, and only stutters out excuses. She’s letting Kakashi blindside her.”

“...maybe she is. But...she might come around! You guys just...have to get reacquainted. And that’s not going to be easy. For now, I guess all you can do is...just try to be patient. See how things go. Maybe they’ll settle down, and...maybe they won’t. Only way to know is to try. In the meantime. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment he scoffs. She’s not going anywhere, is she? The person he knows the least out of this group? But...then again, maybe that’s a good thing. Whereas he has soured memories and expectations for Kakashi and Rin, Ryū is...a blank slate. Known only briefly. Vaguely.

And already making a good impression.

So despite his original intention to blow her off, he sighs. “...guess you’re right.”

“...I think for now, you guys should give each other some space. Kinda...ease into it, you know? I mean...five years apart is a long time. Trying to act like all that time didn’t pass will only make this more difficult. Take a little while for yourself. Get settled in overall, then you can worry about anything else.”

He considers that silently.

...that is until a pack of unruly freshmen make their way down the hall.

Loud, obnoxious, and clearly not yet learning any respect, they push through between the pair. Ryū, slighter in frame, stumbles back and slams into the wall, head knocking with a hollow thunk.

Something in Obito clenches.

“Watch it!” the ringleader taunts, pulling a face. That is, until Obito grabs him by the shirt front. “Whoa whoa whoa!”

“Apologize,” the Uchiha growls, ignoring the sudden attention they’re getting.

“Jesus man, you look like you got into a fight with a weed trimmer and lost! What the fuck is wrong with your face?”

Clutching her head, Ryū looks up with a wince before panicking.

“Funny, I was just going to ask you that. Cuz you look like a little prick that just got decked in the nose.”

“Wha-?”

With a crunch, Obito reels back and...does just that. The freshman falls to the floor hard, clutching at his face.

“What the fuck, man? What the fuck?!”

“You hurt my friend. Seems only fair you get a taste of your own medicine. And I’m really tempted to teach you a second lesson…!” His heartbeat is rushing in his ears, his whole body hot with anger. All he can focus on is the blood on this little asshole’s chin...and how much more he’d like to see.

“Obito, stop!” Ryū pulls at his arm, trying to waylay him.

“You’re gonna regret -!”

“Stop!” Desperate, Ryū instead steps right in his path, latching onto him tightly. Face in his chest, she clings arms around to his back.

He freezes.

“...don’t. It’s not worth it. He’s just some little punk. You’ve done enough!”

Blinking, Obito feels the heat receding. His tensed form slowly goes limp.

And all around him are staring eyes, whispering mouths, pointing fingers. But what tops it all off is seeing both Rin and Kakashi. The former stares in horror. The latter glowers.

A shaking seems to overcome him. It’s too much, he - he can’t -?

Urging Ryū aside, he flees.

Not one to give up so easily, she follows even as the warning bell rings.

Ironically, his hiding place is the storage room for theater club props.

“...Obito?” Navigating her way around the odds and ends, she finds him crouched in a corner of set pieces. “...hey…” Carefully, she takes a knee beside him. “You all right…?”

“N...no…”

She sighs before just...sitting beside him. “...this has been a really shitty first day, huh…? I’m sorry. How about we just...stay in here for a bit? Let things...settle down?”

“I’m gonna get in so much trouble…! First day back and I’ve already fucked it up! I just...I wanted…” To Obito’s frustration, his voice starts breaking and tears sting at his eyes despite rubbing at them with the backs of his hands. “...I wanted...to get through this. F-for my...for my grandma. She wants me to…”

At that, Ryū softens, laying a hand gently on his arm. “...it’s gonna be okay. I’ll tell the staff what happened. Because to be fair...I did get hurt…”

At her sheepish smile, he looks over, sniffling. “...you okay?”

“My head kinda hurts, but...I’ll be fine. Freshmen are just...brats. Punching them might not be the best way to get them to shape up, but...it is a way,” she admits with a hint of a giggle.

“...I got angry. I shouldn’t have done that, but...I’m just so…!” His hands lift, to bury into his hair, pulling at it in frustration. “...I get so mad! I dunno why!”

Wilting again, Ryū leans against him softly. “If...I had to guess, it probably has to do with your condition. Did you...have any cranial trauma?”

“...yeah…”

“That can really mess with your emotions, depending on where it happened. People even develop new addictions or behaviors after they get hurt like that. But...you can get therapy for it. Maybe...that’s something you could look into?”

“We can’t afford it,” Obito counters bitterly. “...it’s just me and my grandma. She can’t…”

The thought trails off, and Ryū hums in response. “...well...maybe something will come along. But it sounds to me like this anger isn’t entirely your fault. A lot of it probably comes from the trauma you went through during your...your accident. But I bet you can overcome it…! It’ll just take time, and the right resources.”

Obito, knowing he can’t really access the latter, just stays quiet.

“...how do you feel now…?”

“...tired. Frustrated. But I’m not angry anymore. Not for now,” he adds with a sigh.

“That’s good, though! Think you can go back to class…?”

Another sigh, arms folded atop his bent knees to rest his chin. “...I dunno.”

“Then we’ll just stay here a little longer.”

“But you need to get to class.”

“This is more important.”

Obito’s brow furrows, watching as she stands up. More important?

“I’m really excited for the plays this year...we’re going to do Beauty and the Beast this Winter, and then Grease in the Spring! I hope I get good parts, since it’s going to be my last year…” Ryū looks over props from past productions, a fond smile on her face. “...it’s been a lot of fun. I’m going to miss it…”

“...can you do it in college?”

“Maybe. I dunno if I’ll have time, but...I’d like to. If all goes well, I’d like to go into nursing, like Rin. But theater and choir have made me really happy, too. They’re just...not really stable careers,” she adds sheepishly.

“...but they make you happy.”

“...they do.”

Breaking his gaze from her, Obito looks over the props around him. “...did you guys...build these?”

“Mhm. Well...I didn’t. We have people who work on props, or the lighting, or music. It’s not just actors, after all. But we all have a lot of fun.” She looks to him thoughtfully. “...I’d still say you’d enjoy joining us, if you want. Gives you a creative outlet, and you can make some friends! You don’t have to be an actor if you don’t want to. Maybe...stop in a few times, see if you like it? You can always quit if you don’t.” Ryū smiles at him. “But...maybe an outlet would be good for you. Something to think about and look forward to. Something...new. And fun!”

He mulls that over, looking unsure.

“...well, just think about it. We don’t have our first meeting until Wednesday - last period is cancelled so people can look at the clubs and pick one. Maybe you’ll find another one you can do instead, too!”

Almost immediately, Obito pushes that notion aside. If he’s going to do a club...it would probably be this one...if only because he’d already know someone in it. “...okay.”

For a while, Ryū finds some memorable pieces in the room, showing them off and recounting memories about them. Obito finds himself enthralled, glad for something else to think about.

...but all good things have to come to an end.

A knock sounds on the door, the pair of them looking up as the school secretary comes in. Her arms fold. “There you are. You’re both quite tardy to your next classes. And you’re to come to the office about a fight that happened during lunch period.”

Ryū tenses. “Obito wasn’t -!”

The woman holds up a hand. “A few witnesses said the freshman started things when he pushed you and injured your head, and that it ended when mister Uchiha punched the assailant. Both he and the freshman will be serving detention after school today. Guardians have already been called.”

Behind Ryū, Obito’s face falls. So...Sachiko already knows.

“Obito has a medical condition the school needs to take into account,” Ryū retorts. “Ignoring that will be grounds for discrimination for his disability!”

“You can discuss that with the principal,” the secretary retorts. “To the office. Both of you.”

To Obito’s surprise, Ryū glowers the whole way down, arguing quite haughtily with staff once they arrive. Jiraiya has already shown up, listening quietly to his daughter’s arguments.

“Obito shouldn’t be punished, he needs help! Punishing him won’t address the real problem and leave the possibility it happens again!”

“The school is not responsible for mister Uchiha’s health or disabilities,” the principal retorts, waving a hand. “If he has issues, they’re to be handled on his own time to ensure he attends school properly without resorting to violence.”

“And if he doesn’t have the means?”

“It’s still not the school’s responsibility. Obito’s job while here at school is to attend his classes and pass them, and refrain from poor behavior. If he can’t do that, we’ll have to remove him.”

Ryū bristles, but pauses as Sachiko is ushered into the room. Worry tightens the old woman’s face.

Obito’s head bows in shame.

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, Ryū looks pleadingly to her father.

Glancing between everyone present, Jiraiya heaves a heavy sigh. “...the way I see it, we have a student on our hands that lacks the resources to be able to attend school as he is. Which means we need to get those resources squared away, so he can use the school his granny’s tax dollars pay for, and that he should have the right to use.”

The principal perks a brow.

“If we get the kid into therapy and his behavior improves, he can stay, right?”

“...correct.”

Arms folding over his barrel chest, Jiraiya simply replies, “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Ryū’s expression brightens, Obito’s slack in shock.

“Oh, sir...you don’t have to -?” Sachiko lifts her hands, looking hesitant.

“Nonsense. Any friend of my daughter’s is a friend of mine. Friends help each other. We’ll get this little snag taken care of, and then everything’ll be fine.” He gives a cool, pointed look to Obito. “...right?”

“R...right.”

Looking exasperated, the principal waves them away. “Just...make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The four of them then leave the office, Jiraiya talking to Sachiko as the teens idle uncertainly.

“...is he serious?”

“Mhm,” Ryū replies, smiling. “Dad helps a lot with stuff at the school - admittedly he’s...made a good amount of money. So he tries to give back. The party yesterday? That’s one of his ideas. He’s been doing it since I started school. He takes a lot of pride in the community, and maintaining it. I think yesterday already made him realize you need some help.”

“...I don’t -?”

She cuts off Obito’s retort with a hand on his arm. “It’s not pity. It’s help. A tool you can use to succeed. Besides, I’m sure he’ll find a way for you to make it up if you want. I know he hates mowing the lawn, so...expect him to wrangle you into something.” Her expression softens. “...it’s gonna be fine.”

Still looking conflicted, Obito just sighs. He’s not...used to this. How is he supposed to react…?

“Well, you two better get back to class,” Jiraiya then offers. “Sachiko and I are gonna hash some things out. You’ve still got your detention Obito, but that should be it. Just try and keep a lid on that temper until we get something figured out.”

“...yes sir.”

“Then off you scoot!” He ushers them down the hall.

“Well...guess I’ll see you later,” Ryū offers. “Think you’ll be okay?”

“...I guess.”

“I can wait after if you -?”

“No,” he cuts in firmly. “You...you’ve done enough.”

“...okay. Well, I’ll see you after class, then.” She gives a little wave, branching off down another hallway.

Obito watches her go.

“...thank you.”

     Oof, this is very late OTL Almost finished it last night but I just...had a really bad day and an even worse night so I call it quits. Came back with a fresher mind and got it done. Still not 100% sure about it, but it’s done kjdfgjkdhfg      I always struggle with modern and this one felt really hard to write, idk why. I’m not very good at writing grumpy characters kjfdjdhfg but I tried :’D      Anyway I’ve got irl stuff to do so idk if I’ll get more done tonight or not, but I’ll try. Thanks for reading~

[scurvgirl]

The Nature of Monsters, Part 1

Alright, it’s actually NOT finished, but nearly so and I want to start posting anyways. So here is Part 1 of The Nature of Monsters, an ode to everything I love about Caserole. Melarue belongs to @justanartsysideblog <3

_________________________

Kass is tired of mercenary work. Sure, it pays and it’s the reason for the roof over her daughter’s head and food in their bellies. But Kass is really tired of it. 

If she were a human man, she’d be lauded as a hero by now for the monsters she’s slain, the bandits she’s driven off, the aid she has given. Alas, Kass is neither a man nor human, and is therefore just a mercenary. A tired mercenary who would really like to retire to a nice home in the countryside raising goats or something. Not that she knows how to raise goats, but she’s sure she could figure it out. 

In the meantime, she’s a mercenary and monster hunter, taking jobs where she can to earn something of a decent living. At present, she’s got a job to do. In a town two day’s travel from her and Ashokara’s home, the son of the captain of the local guard has gone missing. Everyone suspects the Cave Monster (really, these people have no creativity) to be responsible. That suspicion combined with the captain not wanting to risk any of his men facing a monster, she’s been called in to find the man. The cave in question is half a day’s ride from the town and almost entirely uphill until the land plateaus into a cliff-side. Nestled into a heap of rock is the cave, the opening nicely angled away from the spray of the sea. 

Kass hitches her horse to a nearby tree and begins the trek into the cave. It’s well past midday and she wants to get this wrapped up quickly so she can get home to her daughter. She adjusts her coat and holsters her axe while making sure her short sword is properly sheathed under her coat. She grabs a torch and makes her way into the cave, ducking under an initial low cropping of rock.

The cave is not a gargantuan thing. It’s rather modest comparatively. It’s not like the cyclops cave - now that cave had been GIGANTIC. This cave is smaller, but still large enough to not feel claustrophobic. There are at least two feet between the ceiling and Kass’s head and as a very tall woman, it’s nice. The buildings in the town down below had terribly short ceilings and her back had been starting to hurt from all the leaning. 

She lights a torch and continues to sojourn into the cave. It winds for a bit before coming to what looks a little like a vestibule. A vestibule full of statues. 

“Huh,” she says, slowing her stride to take in the space. There have to be at least three dozen statues scattered throughout the space. Perhaps this is an artistic cave monster, she thinks, stranger things have happened. Upon closer inspection, Kass finds that all of the statues have horrified expressions. Eyes wide and mouths often ajar as if spying something horrible. Well, that’s different. But she guesses that like many artists, this cave monster is going through a phase. A ‘horrified statue’ phase. She’d like to say it’s the weirdest thing she’s seen, but it’s not. She once saw a man get swallowed by a giant worm then fight his way out by playing a lute. It’s hard to be phased by horrified statues after watching a worm explode. 

The statues are all so...detailed. She can see the movement of their clothes and the small details in buckles and on beads in hair and earrings. Aside from the expressions, the statues are quite lovely and exquisitely made, diverse in heights, build, and facial features.

Kass walks slowly through the vestibule, examining the statues but also the room itself. “Vestibule” may be a bit of an exaggeration, it is a cave after all. Still, with the long swaths of fabric strewn from the ceiling down to the curving walls, and the large decorative urns lining the room, with the worn running rug - it sure feels like a vestibule. There are even tall candelabras! Their metal forms glint in the torchlight. She is tempted to light the candelabras but monsters frequently have a thing about their candelabras, she thinks it’s a dramatic exit thing or being embarrassed in the light thing. Maybe it’s both things! Whatever the things are, she respects them enough to not light the candelabras.

She goes back to looking at the statues. There is something about them that is so lifelike, so...horrifying but beautiful. This monster is a real artist, she thinks with frustration. Damn. It’s hard to do her job when the monster is all artsy or personable. Thing is, nearly all of them are artsy or personable. The more she does this job the more she sees monsters are just people with different circumstances, most of the time ostracized because of “normal people” fear. 

She really has to get out of this line of work. 

Kass turns and a particular statue catches her eye. She walks towards it and a chill runs down her back. This statue is of a shorter, lanky man with stringy hair with an upturned crooked nose that she suspects he got from a bar fight two weeks ago. Her eyes scan over the form, finding  a small detail in the hilt of the sword he had been in the process of brandishing - the mark of the town’s guard. Shit. This matches the description of the guard captain’s son; the problem is, he’s a statue instead of a breathing person. 

Ooooh, this is NOT good. Not an artsy monster but a monster who can somehow statue-fy people. And here she thought it was just a run of the mill cave monster! No! This is a monster with freaky statue-fying powers! 

Kass lets out a groan as she pulls out a book on the various monster’s she’s encountered and other mercs have encountered that she has met. Making statues out of people is a pretty rare talent, she’s only heard of a couple of creatures that can manage that. 

She flips through the book, nibbling on her lower lip. There’s a bird that can do it, a big ol’ snake called a basilisk that can do it, and an unnamed person who always seems to evade the mercenaries that survive their attacks. Rumor has it that to gaze upon this creature is to be turned to stone. Kass hopes for the bird. She feels like she can deal with a bird faster than the other options, especially the mystery monster that is apparently smart enough to elude hunters. 

Kass tucks the book away and reaches up to pat at the braids in her hair. Never know when a monster is going to explode and it’s easier to pick out blood and whatever out of braids rather than the fro she likes to keep. If any of these statues get smashed, though, she doubts she would be able to easily clean dust out of her hair, braids or no. 

“Alright, monster, let’s get this show going, I got a kid at home who needs her mom,” she mutters.  She pulls out her face mask that she uses for sleeping and takes a deep breath. She doesn’t like having to rely on her other senses, but she can do it. Really, if she wasn’t big and grey and behorned, she would be enshrined as a hero. But she is all of those things, so she’s just a reputable mercenary. 

Her hands reach down to assure herself that she has her weapons - a short sword, a dagger, a hand-axe and a lasso on her other hip that is good for many things. 

She keeps her torch lit and walks to a wall where she had seen an opening. She can make out the faintest shapes through the mask with the torch so close. The hallway she enters is narrow and winding and it eventually leads to an antechamber containing three doors. Oh fun, she loves playing “What’s Behind Door Number Whatever!” Her favorite thing, just behind exploding worms. 

“I’m getting too old for this,” she grouses, pulling the first door open. Darkness greets her and after a moment, she steps carefully through, leaning her torch forward. She treds slowly through the room, stumbling against what feels like a raised platform...no, a bath! She can hear the trickle of water and feels the curve of the bath, the stone worn to smoothness. Her hand crests over the edge of the bath, steadying her as she makes her way back to the entrance. She pauses when her fingers find something that is dry yet delicate. Long and thin that feels vaguely familiar. Taking a chance, she lifts her mask to look down at what she found, blinking in surprise when she sees it’s a shed snakeskin. It is small and while it would suggest the snake, the serpent the other mercenaries had spoken of was gigantic. This is small, no larger than a long garden snake. 

Frowning, Kass lets go of the skin and slides her mask back into place. She’s been in a good number of monster dens, and this one...it just feels different. The vestibule, the doors, the bath, replete with grooming instruments and oils - it’s less of a lair and more of a home. 

She leaves the bath and heads out to the second door. Her ear twitches, straining to hear anything. There is nothing, but the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention and she knows the creature that lives here is watching her. 

She opens the door to find another hallway. Before she sets down the hallway, she opens the third door to only find a broom closet. Cautiously, Kass steps down the hallway, feeling the cave slope downward. It’s a short hallway that leads into an open room to the right, and another door to the left. Exploring the room to the right reveals it is a kitchen-like area, complete with tables for meal-prep and eating as well as dishes. 

It makes even less sense for the serpent to live here - the bath and kitchen point to a humanoid creature. And a humanoid creature would also rule out the bird, unless this is a harpy-like monster. Harpies don’t live in caves, though, their claustrophobia forbids it.

Finally, she stands at the door. She gets a feeling and knows that if she goes forward, there is no going back. These moments are always difficult. The intense knowledge that the choice about to made is completely irrevocable and likely completely life altering. Thing is, she doesn’t know how this choice will change her life. Would it be bad? Would it be good?

A long time ago, Kass learned that there is only forward if true change is to be achieved. 

She opens the door. 

A hissing breeze slips through the door and promptly snuffs out Kass’s torch. Knowing that the breeze must have been magical in origin to suffocate the torch, she drops it, and unsheaths her shortsword instead.

“I suppose the boy’s family sent you,” a dark voice says, not surprised, but resigned. Several thoughts race through her head. Not the snake, not the bird, but the humanoid. The creature that has somehow evaded and slain hunters. 

“They did.” No need to deny her purpose here. There is no way to deny who or what she is - a well-armed monster hunting mercenary sent here to dispatch a monster. This monster.

Something moves and she hears what sounds like a bed creaking. She thinks this must be the bedchamber. 

“Did they tell you what a disgusting person he was?” 

“Why would they do that? They wanted me to find him.” 

“And you did.” Their voice grows closer and she drops into a ready stance, following them with her ears. They don’t sound like they are going to attack, but she knows better. 

“He gazed upon you and turned to stone, the family will be very upset to have him back as a statue.”

“It is an improvement, I can assure you,” they reply dryly.

“Is that so?”

“The man they sent you to find is a rapist, I plucked the knowledge from his mind as I turned him to stone. He assaulted five people, and I would have been his sixth.” 

Kass frowns. She knew the man wasn’t well-liked, her stay in the town had confirmed as much. Her canvassing the town had not brought up any allegations of rape. Bar-fights and insubordination within the guard, yes, but not anything related to sexual assault. She isn’t surprised, though, with his father as the captain and his own lofty position as a guard in the town, he could have easily covered up anything that came up against him. He was in a position of power, and Kass knew that those in power rarely were so honorable to not abuse their station. 

Still, they could be lying. 

“Tell me what happened?” She asks softly.

They pause long enough that Kass grows worried, but when they speak, it is farther from her. “I was sleeping when I heard the man knocking about in the entry. Most leave upon seeing the display, they run to tell their families of the monster in the cave that has horrified statues. But not this one. He stumbled his way through to my bedchamber, not unlike you have, though I believe he was thoroughly intoxicated. I heard him fumble with his clothing before I decided enough was enough. I turned to him and turned him to stone. In this process, I can discern pieces of my victim’s life - and I saw that he was a horrid person. The world is better off without him.”

“How did you get him to the vestibule?”

“I carried him. I’m quite strong.”

She has no doubt they are, as well as smart enough to tell her a story she will sympathize with. She wonders if their mind-reading ability is restricted to only during this petrification. If not, they could have seen how her daughter was conceived and spun this tale to entice her to letting them go. 

Kass is not an accomplished liar but she is no fool. 

“I want the truth,” she says quietly.

They scoff, “No one wants the truth, they want convenient lies that allow them to continue their lives without changing. That is why you will not believe me.” They sound almost disappointed.

“I did not say I do not believe you. It is entirely possible he was as vile as you say. What I have trouble believing is that you acted out of self-defense. A strong, clever person such as you? No, I am willing to bet you played with him.”

They pause, “You believe me.”

“Partially, but...yes.”

She does not hear them move but when they speak again, she hears that they are in front of her, “It has been so long since someone believed me.” They sound disbelieved. It’s not surprising, monstrous folk are so often written off and assumed liars. Kass has seen enough to not discount anyone, particularly the monster folks. 

“I did toy with him,” they admit.

Kass nods and thinks for a second. She doesn’t blame them for their actions and quite frankly, this job has felt skeevy from the beginning. The guard captain had kept his hand on his wife the entire time he spoke to Kass and the rest of the guard would either sneer at her or not even try to bring their gazes up from her breasts. She regretted not wearing her full armor, it had been a hot summer day, though, and the layers had been so unappealing. The barkeep had said the man would start up a fight at least twice a week, and none of the girls would speak to Kass. Yes, she believes them. 

“He earned it,” she sighs, reaching up to scratch her horn again. What a shitty job. She should have refused it the moment she started thinking the little shit was...well a little shit. This monstrous person is just trying to live, and judging by the rumors she’s encountered, they’ve been moving far and wide for a while. 

“Look, there is a town full of people who are determined to see your head on a pike. I can buy you some time to get out of her, tell them you’re dead, you disintegrated into...ash or something. I suspect they’ll eventually want to come up here to investigate, so you’ll need to leave.”

“You’re letting me go?” They ask, shocked.

“Yes. There is a town to the north of here called Eastbrook. It’s a five day ride from here. There’s a tavern by the name of Hush, tell the barkeep Kass sent you. Code word is Seeker. They’ll help you, they’re good people.” She turns from where she assumes they are and fiddles with her pack, pulling out her journal. She shoves the mask up over an eye and sets to write out the instructions only to realize it is still pitch dark.

“You wouldn’t mind lighting the candelabras would you?” Before she finishes the sentence, light blooms in the chamber. She thanks them then writes out an abbreviated version of the instructions.

“Why are you doing this?” They ask softly.

“Because more often than not, the true monsters are the ones you never suspect. You are trying to live your life and this man comes into your home and tries to assault you? Yet, you are the one who is held up as a monster. It’s not right. I’m not a hero, I’m too much of a monster myself to be one, but...I do what is right. Helping you escape the mob that is surely to come is right.” She tears the journal page out, shifts the mask into position and holds the paper out.

“I don’t know where you are - oh,” her voice trails off as their fingers meet hers as they take the paper from her. They remain out of sight and their touch is so brief it’s almost as if it didn’t happen, but her skin tingles from where their fingers brushed against hers.

“Your kindness and mercy will not be forgotten. I will repay this one day.” Their voice is thick with gracious promise. It makes Kass smile. 

“It’s okay if you don’t, but thank you. I...need to get going, start this distraction for you.” She fumbles with the mask, sliding it into place.  

“I will light your path back,” they say. They keep that promise, the candelabras lighting as she walks by them all the way out to the mouth of the cave where her horse is tethered. She takes off the mask and mounts the horse, mind turning over what happened in there. She truly intended to bring back the brat, but she agrees with the creature - he was a true monster. Which brings her to question why she had so readily accepted their account of things. They were rumored to be clever and it could have easily been a ruse. 

Perhaps she really is tired enough, disenchanted enough to believe a monster over the people who send her out to kill these so-called monsters. Sullivan over at the tavern is going to kill her for sending another to him. But he owes her, he was after all the first one she helped. She invested some of her coin into helping him set up the tavern so he could live his life without having to be so isolated. Like wolves, and people Kass supposes, werewolves like to be around other people. It just so happens once a month they really shouldn’t. 

These thoughts bounce around in Kass’s head for the entire journey back to the town to deliver the news - both the boy and the monster are dead. No, there isn’t a body, both were turned to dust. She urges the guard captain to simply hold a funeral and move on. They dock her pay, only giving her half of what they promised.

They sneer and spit slurs at her as they hand over the money. She wishes she could say she’s surprised, but she’s not. She’s all too familiar with this. It’s why she still has to work these jobs - whether she completes them or not, her pay is routinely docked for “not completing the job to specifications.” Whatever, she just wants to go home.

She pockets the money, hops on her horse and begins the journey home. It’s late enough in the day that she doesn’t get far. She could’ve stayed in the town’s inn, but she doesn’t want to spend more time around those people. It didn’t escape her that the vast majority of the people she spied were humans. No, she’d rather make camp under a nice big tree on the way home. 

It’s a nice, sturdy tree she finds. She props her tent against it and settles in for the night after making a fire. The horse is tethered and she is a light enough sleeper she’ll wake should anyone or anything get too close. 

Morning arrives with light spilling lazily across the horizon, gradually pushing out the night. Kass wakes almost as slowly. Only when she repeatedly reminds herself that she needs to book it today if she is to return home by nightfall does she fully rouse. She emerges from the tent and stretches, her back protesting slightly. She is really getting too worn for all of this. 

When she looks back down at the long dead embers of the fire, she blinks. That bag was not there when she went to sleep. It’s a leather coin purse and a note rests atop it. She bends down and breaks the seal on the note - a deep green wax emblem of a snake’s head. Only two words mark the page in an elegant script.

Thank you.

She quirks an eyebrow before she tucks the note away and opens the purse. 

Kass lets out a low whistle at the contents, her eyes going wide. Thank her indeed. There must be at least a hundred gold pieces! Enough for her to buy another magic lesson for Ash. Enough to not have to choose between eating three meals a day and getting Ash properly trained for at least two weeks. 

Nigh overcome, Kass bites her lip and closes her eyes. 

Thank you.

**

2 Years Later

It doesn’t take long for Ash to be labeled as a monster. Her magic isn’t the pretty kind that is easily justified away as “well, she can always heal people.” No, Ash’s magic is explosive just like she is. But it is warm like her too, passionate and strong. It’s beautiful magic, but Kass should have known that it was only a matter of time before Ash was seen as too dangerous.  

Kass is returning from another job when she sees a plume of smoke rising from the town she’s called home for the last several years. Her heart leaps into her throat in a sudden grip of fear and she urges her horse into an earnest run into town. They fly through the town, narrowly missing passerby, but she can’t bring herself to be overly upset - the fire is at her home.

She rounds the corner and her body grows cold at the terror coursing through her body.Her house and several houses next to it are ablaze in a brilliant show of fire composed of orange and blue flames. Ash. Kass practically leaps off of the horse, not caring as she shoves through the crowd.

“Ash? ASH!” She calls.

“She set this fire! She can burn!” Old woman Adelaide sneers, stepping in front of Kass.

“Move, or I move you,” Kass growls. The woman protests but she steps out of the way as Kass rushes into the still burning building. She runs through a break in the flames and to the back of the house where Ash spends most of her time. 

There! Just over the top of the flames Kass can see the tips of Ash’s horns. 

“Ashokara!” Kass calls, coughing as smoke begins to cloy at her lungs. Ash looks up, face streaked with soot and tears.

“Mama! They were going to hurt me!” The girl sobs. Confused, Kass steps around the flames into the sunroom proper to find two charred but familiar corpses. They’re of two neighbor boys, their faces distorted in screams, their skin covered in deep burns.

Kass’s heart breaks - for her daughter. It’s out of self-defense, it always is. Mindful of the blue flames licking up the walls, Kass steps inside and picks up her daughter. She’s had a growth spurt, but Kass manages to sling Ash over her shoulder.

“We have to go!” Kass turns on her heel and rushes out of the building. The fire brigade only now just arriving to combat the flames. A furious mob has already gathered, though, brandishing whatever weapons they could find while shouting at Kass and her daughter.

“She did this!” They shout as Kass sets to maneuver the crowd, Ash still slung over her shoulders. The girl is still sobbing, clinging to Kass for dear life.

“She’s a monster!” They berate, shoving Kass, causing her to stumble despite her immense height and strength.

“Monster of fire!” They accuse.

“She murdered my boy!” One of the mothers scream and for a brief moment, Kass sympathizes with the woman. She couldn’t fathom losing Ash...and for that, she gathers what little strength she has left for the day and rushes through the crowd to the horse. 

Kass puts Ash on the horse, mounts it herself, and they flee that night with only the money in her satchel from the last couple of jobs she’s done. All of her savings, all of their belongings - gone. But they’re alive, and that is enough. It has to be.

The next several months are a blur of moving from town to town, doing any odd job she can do to keep them fed and staying at inns. She wants to save up enough to buy another horse for Ash, the poor beast they have now can really only handle one of them at a time. Saving money is hard though, when the jobs don’t pay much and the other costs keep mounting. Kass has to buy new boots since her old ones finally give up the ghost. Ash needs clothes to keep her warm during the winter. Kass gets sick and while she knew she could withstand it, Ash panics and rushes into the local apothecary and buys an expensive tonic. It puts Kass on her feet at least. 

Kass would love to be able to put roots down in another town, but there is now a bounty on Ash’s head, and Kass’s too since she aided in Ash’s escape. It makes life more than a little hard and very tricky. She could go to Sullivan’s, but she’s seen in that area enough that the monster hunters would surely check there. 

The seventh month on the run, however, Kass is seriously considering going to Sullivan’s to end this madness. She is worn thin, literally. She’s lost weight, giving most of her food to Ash to keep her as healthy as possible. Exhaustion weighs heavily on her bones from working nearly non-stop. She doesn’t know how much more she can manage this. 

The sickness is back again, as well. It started out as a cough, but now it’s spread into full body chills and aches. She’s feverish, and while she breathes deeply, it’s as if she cannot pull enough air into her lungs. Her chest aches and her head is beginning to feel fuzzy at the edges. Movement has become more belabored, but she must work, they must keep going. Survive first, details later.

They have moved into one of the bigger cities in the region. The winter is colder, but there are more jobs to be found in a bigger city. They have been here for the last two weeks, staying in the cheapest hovel of an inn she could find. She found work as a guard at a warehouse that pays well and the owner doesn’t ask many questions. 

She is coming off an uneventful night shift, stumbling back to the disgusting inn, when a coughing spell takes her. Her lungs burn as more and more air is forced out of her, head spinning at the force of it. She hacks and hacks and stumbles right into a lovely, upper class person. 

“I’m sorry,” she wheezes, her vision blurring. All she can make out is long, loose hair, and a lovely dark green coat. They catch her as she falls, though, making a noise of surprise. She wheezes and coughs, and blood splatters against that coat. 

“Where are you staying?” They ask, their voice dark and familiar…

“Rat...hostel, Ash?” It’s all she can get out before the world spins into black.

[scratchface]

Reworking Aoi and Miyu in season 2

For a while now, I’ve seen some fans (understandably) frustrated with the direction season 2 has been taking the Water Origin plot thread. In light of the most recent episode, and naturally everything that accompanied it, I got to thinking about what could have gone differently. 

So, how would I have done this arc?

To start with, I’m leaving everything leading up to S2 the same: no backstory changes, no changes to the previous season, no headcanons nor assumptions. Everything we’ve been given is the same: Aoi’s parents die, leaving only Akira to look out for her, they struggle to get by, she meets and befriends Miyu, takes the blame for the ring, never sees Miyu again, idolizes the Blue Angel character, etc. Likewise, S1 goes exactly the same, for the sake of this little “what if”.

Here’s how their roles in season 2 could have gone:

1. Miyu is introduced alongside Haru and Bohman

The first fundamental change is that Lightning steals Miyu’s consciousness before he takes Jin’s. She’s already been completely brainwashed when the season begins with Jin’s kidnapping, and instead of Bit and Boot stalling for Bohman and Haru, it’s the brainwashed Miyu who stands in Playmaker’s, and then Soulburner’s, way.

Blue Angel witnesses this confrontation and thinks, oddly, that this mysterious girl dueling SB seems familiar. She can’t quite put her finger on why, until she’s struck by a long-forgotten memory of a much younger, but identical face. 

Up until this point, Aoi doesn’t remember Miyu or think of her much at all. No memory hijinks, just the expected fading of one’s childhood memories. Somewhere in the back of her head, Aoi remembers she had a friend for a short while when she was a kid, but can’t really remember what that friend’s name was or what she looked like, just that they couldn’t be friends anymore. Over the years since her childhood, as Aoi grew more and more self-absorbed, more hungry for Akira’s approval and attention, more wrapped up in herself and eventually the Blue Angel persona, her memories of Miyu got left behind. 

And now someone has the same face as that long-forgotten friend, triggering the resurgence of some faded memories, but it’s all wrong.

2. Miyu’s consciousness is mostly intact; she’s aware, but manipulated

Unlike Aoi, Miyu never forgets. Miyu was kidnapped from the playground she and Aoi met, where she spent a great deal of time hoping that Aoi would return and they could be friends again. Aoi never came, Miyu’s relationship with her mother deteriorated. Between Miyu’s stubborn determination to wait and her mother’s frustrated negligence, she gets snatched. During the Hanoi Project, she clings to any positive memories she can; her relationship with her parents too tumultuous to be much of a source of comfort, so instead she holds on to her memories of Aoi. Because of her extreme circumstances, her desperation for something to rely on, Miyu has a much better recollection of their childhood together than Aoi does.

But at the same time, Miyu starts to resent what happened. She’s trapped, isolated, and tortured, and she can’t help but wonder, if Aoi hadn’t told that lie back then, if they both simply had told the truth, would things have turned out differently?

If that lie hadn’t torn them apart, if Miyu hadn’t been left all alone at that playground, would she still have been taken? 

And so Aqua is born, with the unique ability to see through lies like glass. And Miyu grows up, carrying those twisted feelings with her. 

Then Lightning targets her, and uses those feelings to twist her mind. Miyu isn’t like Jin, who shut down in the wake of the Hanoi Project, but her mind was vulnerable in a different way. Lightning makes her hate her parents, for being unable to see the truth, for not protecting her. Makes her hate Aoi, for lying to protect her only to abandon her to a much worse fate. Makes her hate humanity as a whole.

3. Aoi joins the hunt for the Ignis to find Miyu

Lightning’s group escapes, including Miyu, and all that is clear to Aoi is that that girl she can’t stop thinking about, that person who she knows she knows, someone she knows she has to meet again, is related to the Ignis somehow. She can’t let it go, so she goes to find her brother and Ema, and discovers that they too are going after the Ignis. 

I feel like this line of thinking gives Aoi a much more concrete reason to get involved in the hunt for the Ignis and to partner with Ema; a much more definite and personal investment in figuring out exactly what is going on, because there’s something she needs to know, not just because she wants to help Akira. It also gives her a better reason to challenge Soulburner to a duel, instead of just being frustrated by them rejecting her offer for help. 

If she gets an Ignis, than maybe Miyu will come to her. 

She still loses, but its a much more frustrating hit. Not just a blow against her ego, but an invested failure. Especially since Miyu and Soulburner, in this version, were evenly matched and now Aoi’s coming up short. She’s not strong enough. 

4. Instead of switching personas, Aoi finally fights as herself

The war with the Ignis begins, and Aoi becomes aware of just how much danger Miyu is in. She meets Aqua under mostly the same circumstances, but it’s a much more uphill struggle against her fear for her friend, her own feelings of inadequacy. She’s hiding behind her avatar of Blue Angel more than ever before, clinging to the idea that maybe Blue Angel, the heroine, can save Miyu. So she hides that she’s obtained Aqua, begging Ema to help her keep it hidden from Akira and SOL, so they don’t realize that Aoi has obtained an Ignis. 

Aoi hopes that as Blue Angel, this time she’ll be able to protect the people important to her. The time to go after Lightning comes, and finally she and Miyu meet face to face again, and the duel is going badly right up until Aoi realizes that it’s not Blue Angel that Miyu needs. Miyu doesn’t need some storybook hero, some larger-than-life angel, she needs Aoi. The real Aoi, not the masks she wears and the roles she puts on. 

Mid-duel, Aoi casts it all aside. For Miyu’s sake, she gives up on hiding behind Blue Angel. She drops the flashy avatars and usernames and faces Miyu as just herself. She risks her identity, her real life, and her own fragile self-confidence for the sake of her friend, finally managing to make a truly selfless decision.

This is not only in line with Aoi’s arc in season 1, how she forced herself and everyone around her into roles to better suit the narrative she built up in her own head, but it also furthers the parallels between her and Go: right there and then in Vrains she duels with her own name and her own face, out in the open and not hiding behind anything or anyone. 

And in turn, with her friend finally back and reaching out to her, Miyu is also forced to be honest with herself, realizing that all the resentment was just her way of hiding from her own guilt. Even though she’d become a little obsessed with the truth, she was still pushing the responsibility of her actions on others. Back then, she hadn’t had the courage to tell her mother the truth, and instead hid behind Aoi’s lies. And now she sees that Aoi has found the courage to be honest.

Obviously, it’s not perfect, but I do think this kind of plot line and direction would smooth out Aoi’s choppy character development and inconsistent motivations without simply erasing her prevalent character flaws and prominent personality traits. Not to mention the theme of honesty is ham-fisted enough for a kid’s card game show, but complicated enough for Vrains’ complex views on morality and mistakes. Can lies really protect anyone, or are they just a way to hide from reality? Did Aoi really make the right decision back then, sacrificing her friendship with Miyu just to save Miyu from a more short-lived stress? Did Aoi’s regret over that short-sighted selfless act lead to her future egotism and immature selfishness? 

Plus, the idea of Aoi somehow dropping her masks feels like a more natural progression for her character than her rapidly cycling through avatars and usernames in a constant identity crisis. Instead of completely reinventing herself, she learns that it’s okay to just be Aoi, that she can change the parts of herself she doesn’t like without needing to hide who she really is. Meanwhile, Miyu gets to be an actual character, which I think is something we all desperately want.

Anyways, that’s my ramblings on the subject.

[bigskydreaming]

Like, I realize I was posting a ton encouraging people to vote yesterday, but now that midterms are over, let’s be perfectly clear that those posts were made urging white middle class liberals to vote. Because no person of color has ever needed a white dude to tell them why they should vote in the name of damage control even when they don’t like or ‘feel inspired’ by the ballot choices. And the fact is that many, MANY people don’t seem to get that the reason so many marginalized leftists on tumblr speak critically about the Democrats and liberals even at the height of election season is because they’ve fully mastered the art of doing whatever the fuck they have to while already having moved on to worrying about what comes next. And its patronizing as hell to basically expect them to put their training wheels back on until the rest of us catch up to that level of survivalism meets progressivism.

Which we’re never going to do if we don’t fucking start learning to speak with distinction about the difference between groups who are anti-voting or just critical of voting because voting doesn’t get them ENOUGH of what they want and the groups that are anti-voting or voting critical because voting doesn’t get them ANY of what they want and they’re still stuck doing it because at best its a speedbump in the way of making things WORSE than they already are, but hey even a speedbump helps, I guess.

But make no mistake, there IS a difference, and yet which groups tend to get blamed most for elections not going the left’s way? I’ll give you a hint. It’s NOT the groups that have larger platforms and louder voices than the others.

And which groups do you think actually have the MOST influence in whether or not elections go the left’s way? I’ll give you another hint. It’s absolutely the groups that have larger platforms and louder voices than the others.

We all know that trickle down economics doesn’t work, but some of us apparently are still trying to pretend that trickle down social economics somehow works any better. If you were on twitter last night or this morning, there was a MARKED distinction in attitudes from left-leaning users. And that distinction was between White Twitter and Everyone Else. White Twitter were the ones cheering and celebrating and going ‘we did it’ and ‘this is a victory’ and ‘dont let anyone tell you this wasn’t a win!’ Everyone else were the ones going ‘yes, this was good, but we’re not really celebrating because hey guess what? It still wasn’t GOOD ENOUGH.’

And that’s the real problem we’re facing, White Internet at Large. That’s what’s really holding us back. This thing where we’re all happy to sing ‘we’re all in this together’ when we NEED Everyone Else, when even WE’RE aware that things are dire and our most basic rights and freedoms are on the line....

But the second things take an uptick FOR US, suddenly, its fuck those guys, amiright, lol? Suddenly its ‘omg why cant you just let us have this for five seconds’ and ‘sometimes people need something to feel good about, for morale’ and a dozen other things that are basically us flipping off everyone who’s harshing our buzz by pointing out that however better things might have just improved for us, y’know, the ones who were already least affected and thus the latest to arrive at the We Should Totally Burn It All Down Party, that doesn’t exactly mean jack shit has changed for Everyone Else. Just that at most, things haven’t gotten actively worse over night, and guess what? That’s not something we should ever feel okay telling people they should CELEBRATE, especially not if the people we’re telling it to are afforded less privileges and advantages by their status quo than we are by ours.

Trickle down social economics is ‘wait your turn’ and ‘you have to be patient’, spoken obliviously to the ones who’ve been waiting the whole damn time, about things that nobody should ever have to be patient about because its 2018 and we’re still believing the hype that ‘inalienable rights’ are to be distributed at the discretion of the Ones At The Top.

Trickle down social economics is ‘a rising tide lifts all boats’ and ‘hey this might not have improved things for you THIS time but it put the rest of us in a better position to make things better for you down the line, and you did that, so thanks, that’s why your vote counts.’

Trickle down social economics doesn’t work for the same exact reason trickle down economics doesn’t work: making the 1% flush with more cash doesn’t trickle down the social classes and make everyone else more money through the creation of more jobs and the introduction of more capital circling through the economy.....because the 1% have zero motivation to spend their newfound cash on anyone else, zero interest in creating new jobs and introducing more capital into the economy to boost and revitalize it. They got theirs and now they’re doing just fine. They see no reason to change things or expend any more effort than what they’ve already expended obtaining the Extra that they were after for themselves. The lower classes are of no further use to them at this time, so as far as they’re concerned, they see no further need to interact with or on behalf of the lower classes until the next time they need to make use of the lower classes in pursuit of their own self-interests again.

It’s the SAME DAMN THING here. White liberals, as a whole we are guilty of the exact same shit most of us have only lately found it fashionable to despise the 1% for, just in terms of social capital, WHICH WE ALL HAVE, 1% and 99% alike.

This is what we’re doing. Every election cycle. Without fail. Without deviation. Relying on people of color. Talking a good game. Saying how we’re all in this together, we are the future, we have to come together, democracy’s at stake for each and every one of us, blah blah blah.....and then the SECOND we see things turn around enough that WE personally are able to be optimistic again, take heart, see a light at the end of the tunnel, we don’t want to hear anyone else hampering our celebration with talk of the issues they’re still facing. Have been facing all along, that have in no way, shape or form improved along with the improvement of our fortunes. Who personally have ZERO reason to be any more optimistic than they were yesterday, to take heart, to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

Suddenly its ‘We’re TIRED,” and “we’re only human” and “everyone needs to rest sometime” and “nobody can stay this energized 24/7/365, we need to encourage people to stop and appreciate the victories along the way when and where we can.” As though Everyone Else isn’t every bit as damn tired, most likely MORESO, because they’ve been fighting this uphill battle long before our own self interest finally dragged us into it. As though Everyone Else isn’t just as in need of rest. As though Everyone Else doesn’t find it just as hard to stay this energized 24/7/365, as though they too wouldn’t like to stop and appreciate the victories along the way, if they actually WERE victories for them too instead of at best a lack of worsening of their present circumstances.

White liberals and leftists, we have a fucking problem (well, we have a lot) but this one’s name is Taking Too Damn Long To Join The Fight, And Calling Timeout And Taking A Breather The Second It Looks Like WE Personally Can Afford To, Screw How Everyone Else Is Doing.

Crawling over to the sidelines and grabbing a water and waving over at everyone else and saying “You guys got this, you’re doing great, I’m just gonna catch my breath, but I’m totally right here, I’m with ya, I’ll tap back in annnnny second now, just....little winded....still need a sec,” only to stretch that second and drag it out until coincidentally, we only seem to actually tap back in right around the time our own Personal Interests are up for grabs again and the focus of the next battle.

You went out and voted yesterday? Great. Good. That was a thing that you did that helped not make things worse and hopefully gave us some more tools with which to make things better.

But don’t fucking celebrate. Not now. Not yet. Look around at everyone who isn’t White Twitter and White Tumblr and read the fucking room. Look at WHO specifically isn’t celebrating, and wonder why, and then stop fucking wondering cuz you don’t need to because they’re all more than willing to tell us, they’ve been telling us all along, we just don’t like to listen to depressing shit when we could be celebrating our own good fortunes instead.

If we’re really all in this together, then we don’t get to celebrate until ALL of us have reason to celebrate. And guess who doesn’t get to decide when EVERYONE has cause to celebrate? Give you another hint - its NEVER the first people to see their fortunes change or improve. 

And if truth is, you’re really just looking out for number one and are secretly annoyed at having to care about how other people are doing when you just want to be happy for yourself? I mean, you do you, but maybe in the future keep that “we’re all in this together” line out of your mouth unless you’re totes cool with being a disingenuous exploitative asshole who doesn’t actually give much of a fuck about marginalized people or people with marginalizations other than yours. Y’know. When they’re not being directly beneficial to your own self-interests and circumstances.

But still. If you voted yesterday, good job. It wasn’t everything it could’ve been, but it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been either, so you can pat yourself on the back for a job well done at keeping things from actively getting that much worse. Your vote mattered. You did that. Well done.

Now let’s get the fuck back to work.

[dunmerofskyrim]

71

The three Kogaru were two creatures now, loping across the landscape. The injury had made them that way — the injury, or Simra. One was three-legged, carrying the single spear they shared between them. They leaned on it, pick and pull, up the slope as they broke into the hills. The other limped four-legged, carrying their crop-headed youngest with his arm gripping strain-taut over their back, his hand clawing into their shoulder.

Simra and Llolamae walked in their wake. Trod the snow they’d beaten down just paces before: a ragged upgoing gouge, pricked out with the press of feet, and trenched through by the drag of a twisted leg.

Strange, watching them. They were nameless. One small shift of circumstance and they’d’ve been faceless too — three more corpses left behind as Simra walked away, starting out on a long path towards forgetting them. Not the right thing, that, but a simpler one. Now it felt complicated, wrong. Like following a stranger home as they struggled through the dark and street-mud to get to their door and the bed behind it. A stranger and their legless-drunk friend. The tension and threat of before, replaced with this prickling awkwardness. This feeling of invasion.

The ruck of the land had started slight. Roughness and crags; ridges and sumps like creases in a wide white cloth. But the land had narrowed and heightened, exaggerating itself as the afternoon closed in around them and came to its ending.

The Kogaru stopped. Bunched together to change who carried what. A grunting, a reaching of arms and bracing knees. Third time since they’d started out. Nothing new in it, except the scene, the deepening shadows. High walls of stone-riddled earth and earth-mortared stone rose up either side of the course they walked. A gorge, deep-cut, like the scar left behind when a river runs dry.

Simra misliked it, mistrusted it at once. This timing, this place. Watched by the heights above them, hemmed in by the slopes to each side, snarly with a thatch of parched weeds. Could you climb that, need be? Get out of this pit, this trench, at a scramble, not knowing what’s up top, but knowing behind you, below you, is death? He remembered the breach at Gelan-Telai. Felt it, almost, in the half-warm unwashedness of his body beneath his clothes – not even cantrip clean, not for days – just prickling, disgusting, and somehow all he could focus on before the wordless panic came.

It never came. No ambush, nor any of the blind wallbacked rat-bravery that comes in being faced with so much certainty. Still Simra’s heart took its time to slow — to lower, back to his chest from choking his throat. He’d moved. Crashed through the snow to one side of the gulley and into what cover he could, shrinking against the scrub, the sparse and struggling undergrowth. The hand with his wand in it had come out of his jacket, out from under his goatskin mantle, and into the chill air. An empty threat, but it’s better to be armed with just a bluff than armed with nothing at all.

If they were planning a trap here it ought to’ve sprung by now. Instead the Kogaru were still wrestling their wounded kinsman from being a burden on one to burdening the other.

A long and clumsy moment stretched out as Simra watched, half-pitying, half-embarrassed. Then something caught. A gasp and wheeze and panicked groping. Simra flinched, legs tight with the urge to run. From what? Whatever was happening. But it was only the wounded mer, stumbling as he tried to stand his own weight on two feet.

“Fucking waste…” Simra hissed under his breath.

There was no cry. Nothing he could hear over the wind that rushed off the sea up the gulley behind them, keening on the rocks, whispering with snow. But even soundless he saw it. A flash of suffering in the younger mer’s sudden white knuckles. The deep dig of his fingers in the elder’s stark-boned back, almost pulling him down. They caught each other. Stood straight and settled back into their roles – crutch and crippled – but their breath panted out in clouds of steam and scratches showed pale-grey in the elder’s red paint. Bare skin scored through the red, turning pink with the scrape of nails.

The third of them hadn’t moved. Older but not quite old. Break-nosed with a coarse shock of steel grey hair, and harsh bones in his face that the shadows made crueller. He stood by, leaning on the spear as he stood it in the earth, and rolled a stiffness from his shoulders, an ache from out his neck. Not moving, not starting off to forge on alone — but it was clear as clear that he wanted to.

Simra set his jaw. Watched and wondered what they were. In themselves and to each other, who were they, and what bonds bound them? His bare hands were buried now, back inside his jacket. Not that it helped. Not that anything much did besides that paint they wore. They seemed not to feel the cold. Simra felt cold just looking at them.

The elder fretted over the youngest. Felt responsible, like as not. There was a cord between them – father and son, grandson maybe – and at every wince or stumble Simra’d watched it draw tight, dragging the elder in close and frowning.

The other one, the spear-carrier now, felt none of that. There was something flat and cold in his eyes that Simra halfway-recognised. How some people can know someone a moment, or a lifetime, and for all that time feel nothing. How all it takes is a whisper of friction – an obstruction, a jagged edge of envy – and they realise in the root of their belly that it wasn’t ever nothing. Just something silent and waiting to sharp their tongue or steel their hands or harden their heart to pity.

“Could’ve tangled his arm up.” It was Llolamae, fussing across Simra’s new break of snow to stand beside him, close enough to talk quiet. “Do you not think it might’ve been better to hit his spearhand?”

“You try hitting an arm with no time to aim,” Simra said. “See where that gets you then. Fucking waste. Stopped him, didn’t I?”

“Stopped the rest of us too though.” She wasn’t looking at him but back the way they’d come.

Simra followed her gaze. The seaward distance was night-dark. The frozen fenlands were disappearing so fast you could see it happen — mist and shadow, gloom and time. The sun had never set, just gone. And she wasn’t wrong. That was the worst of it. They were making bad time. Trekking out into who knew what weather, who knew what kind of land, what kind of traps or treachery. Again, Simra thought it might’ve been simpler to’ve killed them. Not a pleasant thought, but pleasanter than it should’ve been.

“You prefer I’d left you to them?” Simra prodded. “Let them eat you?”

Llolamae glanced at him, head snapping round. She was carrying the wounded Kogaru’s spear, almost twice again as tall as she was, propped casual over one shoulder. But her mittened hands were braced loose against it, and shadowed inside her hat, her face had gone sour and heavy. Her tired eyes went wide a moment, her lower lip ledged out, cracked and worried at with cold. Looked for a moment like she’d start to cry, but she snatched her face into a scowl.

“I’m fucking cold too,” Simra grunted. “And low on patience for this whole fucking fly-blown errand. Blight…” He could go on but didn’t reckon he could spare the heat his lungs would lose in speaking. Went back to walking instead, cutting a new swathe towards the Kogaru’s tracks.

He couldn’t stand to look at Llolamae. Not right now, when she looked so miserable. He gave her his back. The napped flesh-side leather of his goatskin mantle, across his shoulders and hanging to his waist. The dusk made it all look one colour; the same purple-dun as the netch-leather patches he’d stitched into it to repair old rents and piercings. Wasn’t it her who insisted she come all this way? Of the two of them, she’d had her choice of it. He’d been plunged into this, unasked for, with no choice but a choice that was no choice at all. Simra hung and shook his head, half-swallowing a nervous hiccup of sound. Might’ve been laughter, or the start and end of a sob. Absurd, he thought. All of this. Like some senseless dream he’d yet to wake from. No reason, little premise, and only the faintest glimmer of a goal.

There was a long wet sniff behind Simra. Then a whimper that choked off into the sound of footsteps following on. Something pulled in him, wanting to turn. Turn and then what? What then, he asked himself. Tell her he wouldn’t leave her? That was half a truth at best when he just as surely couldn’t turn back, couldn’t fail in this whether she followed or not. Play the fool then? Ape and act the stoic hero, trying for a laugh, a smile? Tell her she reminded him of someone, himself maybe — and what then? Best not lay that curse on her, on top of all the rest. This mess they were in was enough.

“Your daughter,” said the elder. In a few uphill strides Simra was level with him. “Is she well?”

Simra’s mouth tightened, the scars at its corner bunching painful in the cold. “She’s not my daughter.” The thought alone terrified him, almost choked him.

The elder cocked his head. He had more questions but only asked one. “Should we stop?”

“Here?”

“It seems she needs it.”

“Soon,” said Simra, leaden-tired and guilty with a feeling that sat like oil in his belly above and around his hunger. “Not here if you know somewhere better. Near, that is. Do you?”

“There is a place,” said the elder. And almost as one the Kogaru turned and started again to walk. “We have been going there all this while.”

Simra suffered himself a glance behind. Llolamae was fighting her way along his tracks. Almost twice again as long as she was tall, the spear wavered above like a tall sapling. Her grip was unsteady but tight and her face was turned down.

“They say we’ll stop soon,” Simra tried, gentle as he could. “If it helps to know…” He wondered if she’d have been better left with the Kogaru after all. Just a child. They might not’ve hurt her. Might’ve cared for her, like it seemed the elder did. It was little enough, but it might’ve been better than him.

[gazingupatthemoon]

Pour Me Another (1/1)

Found here at ff.net or A03

Summary: Rey has been trying to get Ben and her friends to mesh for a while, so why hasn't she thought of getting them all drunk before?

Rating: T

Rey and Ben have a lot of firsts.

Enemies turned shaky allies turned shaky friends turned really shaky lovers turned actually stable and in a committed relationship will do that to you.

Some firsts were nice. First time holding hands. Kissing each other on the cheek. Falling asleep in each other's arms. Him buying her a gift and be utterly nervous she wouldn't like it. Sharing memories not focused on murderous family members or starving alone in a desert.

Some firsts hadn't been so nice. Their first fight (that didn't involve any murderous intentions). The first lie to be told and exposed. The first night separated and not knowing if the other is safe.

But this. This is a first Rey is going to commit to memory. She's going to tease Ben for it for the rest of their lives. She's going to maybe even go home and write everything down so she doesn't forget it.

Because this is the first time she and Ben are hanging with their friends and getting drunk. (because, separately, those two things have had their first moments. Toss up if they're being labeled good or bad yet. Scratch that, the drunk first had definitely been a good one).

And yes, their friends, not Rey's, even though everyone would like to comment differently.

Rey nudged Ben in the shoulder for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

He was like a statue in his chair, shoulders tense and arms crossed over his chest. At least his infamous glare wasn't in place. His drink, a simple yellow colored brew, sat untouched in front of him. Well, he had taken a sip. Or maybe just pressed it against his lips. Rey couldn't tell.

Across the table Finn, Poe, and Rose were in an animated conversation describing, in drunken detail, their ideal futures homes now that the war was over.

"Windows!" Poe pronounced, slapping his glass down on the table. "A shit ton of windows."

"Why?" Rose giggled, slapping her hand to her mouth when she realized she near shouted the word. Then she just erupted into another fit of giggles.

"To see the sky, obviously!"

Finn snickered. "Obviously."

Ben muttered, "Obviously."

Rey elbowed him, again.

He shot her you-made-me-come-here look of disdain.

"Haven't touched your drink there, Ren."

Had it been anyone else, Ben would have them on their back with his hands around their neck in a second. But it was Finn and Poe. Specifically Poe right now. They were the only two that dared tease him with his former name. Their own sick form of punishment for the sick punishment Ben had put him through during his days in the dark.

It had been a point of contention, in the past, but now it was actually kind of endearing. Like their own private joke. At least Rey liked to think of it that way. Ben not so much.

"You mean this piss water?" Ben scoffed, eyeing the glass.

Finn swallowed down a bit of his own. "His Majesty must be use to much more fine cocktails."

"Finn," Rose and Rey groaned at the same time.

"Why don't you yell at him like that?" It wasn't clear if he was referring to Poe or Ben. Maybe both.

"Poe is as bad as you," Rose supplied.

"Ben's not drunk." Rey piped up, though she wished the opposite was true.

You sound disappointed He sends through the bond.

She can feel his confusion behind the words.

I just want you to have fun.

And that means me getting drunk?

You're a fun drunk.

You make me a fun drunk.

You see me sitting here, right? Like literally a finger space away.

But they're here.

They're our friends.

Your friends.

I can not have this conversation with you. Again.

"They're doing it again," Rose sang.

Finn near spat up some of his beer laughter took him so hard.

"Get a room you too," Poe groaned.

Yea, their force bond stopped being a secret long ago.

Ben sighed, loudly, but then dropped his voice for only her ears. "Does it mean this much to you?"

The fact that he spoke the words showed some inclination to try and be sensitive with her friends. It warmed her heart enough.

She grasped his hand, still tucked under his arm, but he released it immediately to intertwine their fingers. One thing Ben Solo was not shy about, at all, was public affection. He did not care at all who was watching when he wanted to touch Rey. All that mattered was Rey was letting him touch her to begin with. That was the most important thing in his mind.

"If it makes you that uncomfortable, then no, of course not."

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable, per say…" Now he looked nervous. A slight twitch in his jaw and his eyes dropping to the ground.

I…I don't mind losing control in front of you. But in front of them….

I just want you guys to be friends, they're my family, you're my family, you know that's why I push this so much-

No, Rey, it's not-I understand that. Truly. It's not that I don't want to get drunk in front of them, specifically. I…I don't like getting drunk in front of anyone.

Oh.

Anyone but you. So it's…that's why…

Rey felt an immediate wave of guilt. Of course. She should have known that. She should have guessed it. Maker, she was such a jerk-

"Okay you two, no more mind talking. Starting now." Poe announced. "This is a night out. You want one on one, go lock yourselves in a room."

Finn groaned. "Ugh, no. They did that on base once, didn't come out for days."

Rose nodded her head. "The whole wing decided to camp out in the mess hall cause of the noise."

Ben and Rey both blushed.

"Come on Solo," Poe grinned. A peace offering, of sorts. At least he hadn't said Ren. He reached across the table and gave his untouched drink a little nudge. "Do your family name proud and drink."

Don't Rey immediately shot across the bond. I'm sorry, I should have understood. I don't want you to do anything you don't want. I love you, you know that?

Ben smiled, his soft, sweet smile that he only gave Rey. "I love you too." Then he grasped his drink and downed the whole thing within seconds.

And then it all went downhill.

Or, actually, uphill.

Yes, definitely up hill.

Ben and Poe went all alpha and started a contest on who could drink who under the table quicker. It was impressive, really, and Rey, Finn, and Rose watched in delighted amusement to see who would pass out first.

Poe was a very entertaining drunk. He was charming enough sober, so drunk it was like times a million. Between drinks, he was riveting them all with tales that had them bending over in laughter. Even Ben was smiling in amusement.

And boy, could he could hold his liquor. Rey had not doubts Ben could take him, but Poe was giving her a reason to pause. Finn, actually, was the worst out of all of them. Hell, he was one sip away from kissing each and every single one of them on the face and then promptly passing out on the floor. Then it was Rose, and then Rey. Poe and Ben, well, they were about to find out.

"I attacked a dreadnought all on my own." Poe stated smugly.

"I was ruler of the galaxy all on my own." Ben retorted.

Rey and Rose shared a look.

Poe jutted his glass to his lips. "Finishing"

Ben swallowed down the rest of his like a fish in water.

"You know," Ben stated after placing the now empty glass to the table. "I could just wave my hand and make you fall asleep right now?"

"And where would the honor in that be?" Poe grinned, already waving over the waiter for another round.

Two rounds later…

"I fought him in a light saber duel!" Finn all but yelled.

"I resisted some Jedi mind trick shit!" Poe all but yelled back.

Again, again, and again, Rey and Rose shared a look.

Finn had lost the duel. Poe hadn't actually succeeded in resisting.

And Ben was a smug enough asshole to point that out to them both. "And tell me, who ended up being the victor in both those instances?"

"I fought him in a duel. And had him do some Jed mind tricks on me," Rey piped up, and then, grinned wickedly. "And I was the victor both times."

They all burst into laughter at that, and Ben leaned over to place smacking kiss to her temple. "Hell yea, you were the victor."

Ah, she loved drunk Ben.

Two rounds later…

Poe leant across the table and waved a hand for Rey to lean forward. "I have a secret." He whispered. But actually yelled. With a weird voice. Definitely not a whisper.

But Rey was already giggling and bending over, eager to hear whatever it was.

Ben's hand at her lower back was warm and comforting.

"Benny boy," Poe continued to not whisper. "Use to bring books with him when our parents made us play together."

Oh, there was so much to dissect from that statement.

"That's not…entirely true." Ben huffed, ears already growing pink.

"You two were friends?!" Finn sputtered.

Rose grasped Poe by the shoulder and shook him wildly. "Tell me everything. All of it. Now."

"I wouldn't say we were friends" Ben grumbled.

Poe nodded. "Yea, that's a bit too strong of a word. More like, our parents are friends and, you know, were forcing us to do the same."

"What about the books now?" Rey asked.

"He would bring books and just sit there and read. Jerk totally ignored me. Like, what child would rather read then play?"

"You were annoying."

"I was a kid."

"An annoying kid."

"You read books you nerdy nerf herder!"

Two rounds later…

They had made their way to pool table. Finn, predictably, had smooched Rey and Poe on the face enough they had been red cheeked and short on air in their lungs from laughter. Ben had shoved him roughly away with the Force when he approached him but then, when the floor was looking like his new best friend, Rose has swept him into her arms.

In any other circumstance, maybe it would have been a but embarrassing. Two drunks pressing against the wall sucking each other's face. But none of their group was one to judge and after all the shit-no-all the hell they've been through, and taking advantage of life's good moments was all they were concerned about. Not even Ben would bat an eye. Hell, Ben would punch any ass in the face who would dare sneer at the scene.

So as Finn and Rose happily made out, oblivious to the rest of the world, all Rey could do was grin.

Poe leaned over the table, angling his cue stick. "7, right pocket."

Ben watched quietly, his cue stick in one hand and his other brining his drink to his lips.

Rey gravitated to him, as she always did, and pressed against his large warm body. As his hands were occupied, Ben leaned right back against her in a weird sort of cuddle.

"Play for me," He whispered close to her ear.

His husky tone sent shivers down her spine.

Eyes glued on the table, Poe growled with little venom, "No mind talk."

"We are not mind talking," Rey snapped, snatching the cue stick from Ben's hand. "He politely asked me to kick your ass."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Good, then you know how this is going to end."

"Let's do it Jedi."

Rey was good at pool. Ben knew it and so did she. But Poe was good too.

But not good enough.

The game was over in less than ten minutes.

Ben had a shit eating grin the whole time, leaning against the wall and finishing his drink.

Maker, she loved him.

Rey loved how when she was making a shot close to Ben, his body would press against hers, his hips against her ass, and she would blatantly ignore Poe's eye roll and press back into him. Her body was warm with liquor and with Ben and Maker she just wanted to be alone with him right now.

"Alright, so you beat me at pool," Poe admitted, putting his cue stick away and chugging at his drink. "Doesn't mean Ben is better at me in pool."

Rey smiled "He has beat me at pool, a couple times."

"Which means," Ben smiled, "I've beat you, a couple times."

"We're gonna go," Rose slurred suddenly, pushing against the wall and placing a hand to Finn's chest. She all but stumbled towards Rey, who grabbed her with open arms and chuckles. "Um, it's, ah, late and we're-ha-we're drunk."

Finn nodded his head eagerly in agreement.

"Go!" Rey laughed and squeezed her a bit tighter. "Comm me when you're home safe. And, ah, well, have fun."

Rose laughed and nodded, and then herded Finn, who was nonverbal at this point, towards the door.

The three watched them go with bemused faces.

"So Solo, want to try to prove you're better than me at something else?"

Rey rolled her eyes and swayed towards Ben, who immediately enveloped her to his side.

"You know Dameron, trying to prove you're better at something might be a telltale sign you're not that good at it to begin with."

Poe shook his head with a chuckle and took a sip form his drink.

"Are you tired?" Ben asked Rey quietly, nuzzling the side of her head with his face.

"Yes," Rey sighed. Well, not entirely true.

Not tired enough to go to sleep she added not so quietly.

Ben smirked.

"Maker, you two are insufferable."

Rey giggled and looked at her friend apologetically. "Sorry Poe, it' late, and, well I'm kind of tired and-"

He waved his hands at her. "Don't make excuses. It's fine. You two are fine. Go and be in love and all that. Poe usually goes solo anyway."

The pun was definitely unintended and no one, thankfully, commented on it.

As Ben steered Rey towards the door, he bent his head down towards her ear, licked the lobe, and whispered hotly, "I miss you."

Oh, oh, she missed him too. They haven't been a second away from each other in days but her body ached for him.

Maybe she was drunk. Maybe he was too. Maybe Ben had gotten on fantastically well with her friends tonight and softened her heart in a way she couldn't explain.

But Rey never needed an excuse to want Ben. She always wanted Ben.

When they were back in the room they shared and Ben had her pushed against the wall, he whispered reverently against the skin of her neck, "Did you have fun tonight?"

"I love you," She replied without hesitation. "Yes, I did, oh Ben-" He sucked right on her pulse point. "I-I-I yes-please-oh-did you have fun?"

He let go and then rubbed his nose against her chest. "I always have fun with you."

"But-but did you have fun with them? Finn, Rose, and Poe?"

Ben paused at that, and Rey had to stop herself from whining in protest. She also had to stop her hips from canting up against the leg now pressed firmly between her thighs and pressing right there.

"Rey…" Ben sighed, composing himself, not pulling his whole body away but enough that Rey could lean back and look at the tentative look on his face. "I-I am sorry if…I make it difficult. With them, I mean."

"They've gotten over it," Rey assured and leant forward to press a kiss to his chin. "You know that."

"I know and actually, beyond all possible realms of belief, I don't exactly hate them either."

"Then?"

"I don't want you to ever to feel uncomfortable. And if I made tonight unpleasant for you-"

"Ben! Maker, no! Tonight-tonight was great!"

Finn and Ben taking shots that Finn was too drunk to deny and Ben was too nice to tell him no. Ben unsubtly scaring away any men who looked twice at Rose and wouldn't take no for an answer. Ben not killing Poe on the spot for insinuating he was better at Ben than anything, and actually indulging him on every contest and game he wanted to play. Ben, actually, acted like they were his friends for once, and not Rey's.

"You like them," Rey giggled against his cheek.

She felt, didn't hear, Ben's stubbornness in response to the statement.

"Take me to bed," She whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. "And then tomorrow morning we can talk about all how you like our friends."

"Our friends," Ben laughed softly. "I…I didn't think I'd ever say that in a while." Rey knew without asking "a while" meant much more than the year Ben had switched sides to the Resistance.

"You like them," Rey said, then nipped at his chin. He still hadn't moved her from the wall. But maybe this conversation needed to be had without to seduction of the bedroom. "It's not a sin to admit you like them."

After a tense, quiet minute, Ben whispered, "Do they like me?"

"Oh Ben," Maker, she felt so much like an idiot tonight. She just thought pushing Ben and her friends together would eventually just click, without any other need or worry. But this was Ben. Ben who had suffered so much in his life. And Rey-oh, she had suffered so much too. She could not judge him. And she should have known tonight. "Do you think if any of them hated you, they would actually come to a bar to drink with you?"

"They love you Rey-"

"It doesn't how matter how much they love me. If they hated you more, they wouldn't come. Ben-you're not Kylo anymore. You're Ben. My Ben."

She kissed him, hard, teeth biting at his lips wanting entrance, not waiting. Not hesitating.

Ben groaned and opened up. They kissed, their tongues pushing together, lapping and wanting, and needing.

It was the perfect end to the night.

And yes, Rey teased Ben mercilessly for his new band of friends the next morning.

And yes, Ben pretended to be annoyed.